Season of No Shadows
by vjs2259
Summary: Stories are set in an alternate S2, and are a loosely-connected series. There are no Shadows and this changes everything. Pure fluff, J/D, S/T, Lise/Michael, Zach/Lyta, and Stephen/Marcus.
1. Chick Lit

**Chick Lit**

"May I join you?" The low voice was pitched to be heard even over the noise of the surrounding mass of people.

Susan hastily lowered her book, and looked up when she heard the familiar voice. The cafe on the east edge of the Zocalo was crowded, unusual for this late in the afternoon. Gesturing towards the chair tucked under the table, she lowered her leg, which had been resting on the seat, to the floor.

Delenn said, with chagrin, "I am sorry. The chair is needed for your injury. I did not see..."

"No, no. It's all right. I only elevate it to make Dr. Franklin happy. It's not good for him to have all his orders followed. Gives him exaggerated ideas of his own importance." She pulled out the chair and indicated that Delenn should take it. "It's pretty busy today. If you want something, you'll probably have to go up to the counter and place your order."

"I was just waiting for someone, that is, I was waiting for Captain Sheridan. We were supposed to meet this afternoon, but the conference I was in went on longer than expected. C&C said that he was coming here, that I was to wait in the conference room. But as this place is close to the conference room, I thought perhaps it would be easier, more convenient, to wait here."

Delenn's face was growing pink as she stumbled along with her wholly inadequate explanation for stealing a few extra minutes in Sheridan's presence. Susan kept her face in an expression of polite interest, trying hard not to smile. "Perfectly logical. And I'm glad of the company." Then she saw Delenn eying her book with interest. _Oh no_, she thought, and pushed her salad plate around in a futile attempt to hide the title.

"But I am interrupting your reading. May I ask what type of book it is? It is unusual to see paper books these days." Delenn's eyes sparked with curiosity.

"It's a new format, similiar to the newspaper editions Universe Today puts out. You request the book, read it, and return it to be recycled. There's something about holding a book in your hands...an electronic reader just doesn't cut it sometimes. You want to be able to fold down a corner and lay it down, open, on the corner of the nightstand. No on/off switch, no battery running low, you can flip back and forth to re-read a passage, it's all there in one simple package." Susan looked fondly at the beat-up pile of paper. It sported a garish yellow and blue cover, and there was a small oily stain on the creased and broken spine.

"Fascinating," replied Delenn. "I have to admit, I always loved going deep into the Hall of Records and pulling out original scrolls for study. There is something about knowing that so many hands have touched the same parchment over the years." She smiled at Susan, and then asked again, "But that is not what I meant. The title of your book is what intrigues me. What exactly is a 'lust puppy'? Someone who desires a small companion animal of tender years?"

"Not...exactly," Susan flushed as images flashed through her mind. In a way, that wasn't a bad description. "It's a genre that used to be called chick lit...that is literature that appeals to females rather than males. It's an old-fashioned term; after all, tastes have changed over the years. But sometimes it's fun to read the old classics. This sort of book is like mental popcorn."

"Popcorn! I had some once, with Mr. Garibaldi! The taste was pleasant, but it tended to get stuck in the teeth. Not a substantial food either, you would have to eat a great deal to get any sustenance from it." Delenn unconsciously ran her tongue over her teeth in memory.

"That's the idea. Tasty, but without much substance. Ideal for relaxation and distraction from the stress of everyday life. These books tend to be set in exotic locales, and usually there's a romance involved." Susan moved her plate out of the way, so Delenn could see the cover more clearly. Luckily there wasn't a scantily clad couple on the front. Briefly she wondered if there was a Minbari equivalent to a bodice-ripper.

Her friend reached towards the book, and Susan fought the impulse to yank it away. She watched, disconcerted, as Delenn flipped through the pages, obviously stopping to read various passages. _Please God, don't let her hit on the beach scene_, Susan prayed internally. Delenn's cheeks grew bright red as she reached a section that seemed to interest her greatly. She read rapidly, her eyes flicking from one sentence to the next, her mouth slightly open.

"Look, there's the Captain now," Susan said with relief, taking advanatage of Delenn's instant distraction as an opportunity to snatch back her book and stow it in her lap where Captain Sheridan couldn't see it.

"Don't get up, Commander," came Sheridan's friendly voice.

Susan noticed Sheridan wasn't even looking at her. She'd observed this effect before when Delenn was around. Maybe she had become invisible. "I won't," she muttered, wondering if they'd notice if she spontaneously combusted. After a few moments filled with meaningful looks, Delenn rose gracefully and thanked Susan for her company and conversation. As the couple who wasn't a couple walked off together, close but not quite touching, Susan clearly heard Delenn ask, her voice filled with innocent sweetness, "John, have you ever heard of the concept of a 'lust puppy'?"

Susan picked up her credit chit and her book and hobbled quickly to the counter. It was time to pay her bill and make a quick exit.


	2. Teacher's Pet

**Teacher's Pet**

(Chick Lit: The Next Scene)

_Standard disclaimer applies; not my characters or settings or backgrounds. But they are my words._

* * *

John stared at Delenn for a moment, attempted to speak, failed, then managed to repeat the phrase, though it was barely audible. "Lust puppy?" He noticed that she was looking directly at him, her gaze intent, color high in her cheeks, but he couldn't interpret the message in her eyes. Lovely, green eyes...wait, he was supposed to be talking, wasn't he? "Who? What...? Where did you hear that term? Why do you ask?" The questions tumbled one after another off his lips, but he couldn't keep a hint of interest out of the last one.

They had stopped in a low-traffic back hallway off the Zocalo, a short cut to the main conference rooms where they were headed. She had slipped into the space in the wall that held the hatch leading to the internal maintenance corridor, and was just...looking at him. He felt hypnotized, like he couldn't move. Hell, he could barely think. Clearing his throat, he asked again, this time concentrating on her, trying to read her face and body language. "What do you want to know?"

"It interests me, this concept. It seems to imply that your people can have purely physical relationships. I was not certain. You know, John," she reached out and caught his hand, exerting a gentle pressure that pulled him toward her. "We Minbari have many rituals relating to sexual matters. I have told you that we spend a year studying laughter...there is rather more time spent in the study of pleasure. Both giving it, and receiving it."

John moved into the doorway, which was deeper than he'd thought, and darker. The thought flitted by that he should have this area checked; too many lights were out. "Oh yes?" he managed to say, cursing his sudden memory loss. He was certain he had had more words in his vocabulary when this conversation started. The doorway was narrow; of necessity he found himself turning sideways and when she fitted her body up against his he could feel his heartbeat speed up. His pulse pounded in his temple and throat. She reached up to touch his face, grazing his cheek with the back of her hand. Then her hand trailed upwards to touch his temple, as if she was taking his temperature. It was probably a little high. Sliding down the side of his face, her fingers rested against the artery in his neck, which betrayed his emotional state with its throbbing beat.

Delenn continued looking into his eyes as her other hand snaked around his waist, coming to rest in the small of his back. Somehow she had slid it underneath his jacket, and her cool fingers stayed there momentarily, gently stroking the muscles beneath his shirt, sending shock waves up his spine. Her voice remained steady as she explained, "We have courtship rituals, of course, and they cover all aspects of intimacy, including the physical. But when we are young, long before we chose a life-mate, we are taught the ways of love. Experimentation," Here she slid her hand lower, and he moaned low in his throat, striving to focus on the conversation rather than her roving touch. She continued, "Experimentation is encouraged. And instruction is required."

As she slowly removed her hands, crossing them discreetly in front of her, he bit his tongue to stop himself swearing at the sudden feeling of a golden opportunity missed. "Who does the instruction?" He had a sudden vision of a classroom, filled with Minbari, with himself the only human there, and Draal standing in front bellowing questions at him. Wincing inwardly at the mental image, John went on, "What are you suggesting? Exactly?" Cautiously he put his arms around her, running his hands up her back, under her hair, cupping the back of her head in his hands. She arched against him, and he barely stopped himself from crushing her in a fierce embrace. _Slow down_, he thought to himself sternly. _You have to take this slow._

"As it happens, I am qualified in basic instruction." Pulling away just enough to see his expression, she added hesitantly, "If you were interested, of course." Apparently his delight wasn't as obvious as he thought, because she added urgently, "This is not against our traditions, John. I would not suggest it otherwise." Her voice faltered, "You are not interested?"

"No, no," he protested, wondering how his mouth had gotten so dry. His tongue felt like a piece of flannel. "I'm interested." Looking around the corridor and seeing no one in sight, he decided that there were betters methods of convincing her of his sincerity. Pulling her close again, he felt her hands against his back, reaching up to caress his shoulders. Leaning down to brush his lips against her hair, he couldn't believe he was going to make out with the Minbari ambassador in a deserted back corridor of a space station. Feeling her breath quicken and warm against his face, he felt his pulse accelerate once more, and he finally met her eager lips with his own. Spinning, spinning...he'd been in a StarFury once; its stabilizers had been disabled and it rotated rapidly through a pulsating starfield. That had been nothing compared to what he was feeling now.

John had noted with some small portion of his mind that he could no longer feel her hands on his shoulders when she slid her body back against the wall, opening a slight gap between them. The kiss deepened as their tongues met and tangled and explored each other. Suddenly her hands were between his thighs and he felt himself stiffen under her probing touch. "Uh, Delenn?" he managed to gasp with a pause for breath and re-positioning. Not that he moved away, no, that wasn't what he wanted at all. "If we're going to continue this, perhaps another location would be better?" His mind raced through possibilities; it couldn't be too far. Aside from not wanting to wait, he wasn't sure he could walk too far in his current condition. He took a moment to enjoy the sight of the calm, composed ambassador with her lips red and slightly parted, hair in disarray under his hands, clear eyes unfocused and soft.

"Of course," she managed to say, then stuttered to a stop as he moved one hand from her hair, pausing briefly to caress her neck, smooth and taut, then wandering further down to her breast. He outlined the base, then in a tightening circle, stroked his way to the peak. She was wearing several layers of clothing, but they were all thin, and he could feel the hardened nipple under his thumb. She hadn't stopped stroking him either, and he felt again the urgent need for privacy and a locked door.

"Down the hall; there's an emergency communications station. There's one in every section, in case we're cut off from C&C for some reason. It's equipped with emergency supplies, and um, a cot." As much as he hated to do it, he let go of her breast and gently removed her hand from his groin. "Come on," he smiled at her, a wicked gleam in his eye. "I can use my priority lock code. We won't be disturbed."

She giggled. He stared; that was a sound he'd never heard her make before. He liked it though. He liked it a lot.

"All right," she said, smoothing her dress and her hair.

He took her by the hand and hurried down the hallway. They reached the door, and as he punched in his override code to open it, it suddenly struck him. "Wait a minute. Any experience you have is with Minbari males." Turning to her, he said sternly, "Delenn, you can't teach me anything!"

"Oh yes, John," she said, pulling him inside the door, "I can.


	3. Double Date

**Double Date**

_Standard disclaimer applies; not my characters or settings or backgrounds. But they are my words._

_

* * *

_

Susan shifted in her seat, wishing she'd taken the time to change out of her uniform. This was an official station event, but Captain Sheridan had encouraged the command staff to invite friends and acquaintances, especially civilians, and to treat it as an opportunity for social interaction. The empty hanger had been converted with form-fit chairs slotted into portable risers to form a decent simulacrum of an old-fashioned Earth theater, circa the 20th-21st century. This type of entertainment venue had died out with the advent of home high-def 3D theater systems and later, virtual reality pods in every neighborhood complex, but nostalgia was an integral part of the human condition, and everything came back in style eventually.

She twisted her head around, and then her whole body, taking in the growing number of attendees, mostly in pairs or small groups. "Taken," she snapped at a pilot who was inching his way towards the empty seat to the left of her. "Where is she?" Susan muttered anxiously, wondering how big a mistake it had been to invite Talia to the movies. Balancing the bag of popcorn on her lap while she looked from one entrance to the other, trying to spot the slim blonde, she knocked into the two bulbs of liquid stuffed into the cup holder attached to her seat on the right hand side. Looking at the bright pink drinks, she wished again that Captain Sheridan had allowed alcohol to be served. God knows she could use a drink, and even wine would have been better than that lemony swill.

As she scanned the crowd, she saw the Captain arrive, escorting Ambassador Delenn. Both paused on their way in to greet various people, but she noticed they chose a seat towards the back, and in the shadow of a supporting column. They were behind her, not too far away, and that added to her discomfort. Nothing like a date with your boss in a position to observe your every move.

"Susan?"

Talia's voice came from her left and she jumped, causing a few errant kernels to emulate her and leap straight out of the bag. Susan felt the blood rush to her face; you could probably pop the remaining kernels with the heat she was giving off. Her uniform clung to her sticky skin, and she nodded towards the seat next to her. "Hi," she began awkwardly, inwardly cursing her inarticulateness. "I saved you a seat."

"Thank you," said Talia with her typical smooth and enigmatic smile. She slid into the seat with her usual fluid grace. Her face lip up in genuine pleasure as she spotted what Susan was holding. "Ooh, popcorn! I haven't had any of that in ages!"

Susan moved the bag in between them, wishing she'd thought out the logistics of this a little better. Distance between them was not her goal.

Talia responded by pushing the button that lowered the armrest that separated the seats into the intervening gap. Then she lifted the the bag onto her lap, and shifted closer to Susan until their thighs were touching. Resting the bag between them, overlapping both their legs, she said, "There! That's better." Picking up a few white puffs delicately from the bag with her long slender fingers, Talia popped them into her mouth, crunching happily. "Is this real butter?" she asked, looking into the bag, then at Susan. "When does the movie start? I hate running out of popcorn. I like to take my time, make things last."

Susan watched in fascination as Talia licked the oily salt from her fingertips. She reached into the bag, taking a handful for herself. Holding her palm flat, she licked up one piece at at a time. Talia arched one eyebrow in question at this method, and Susan said in explanation, "I hate getting butter on my fingers."

Talia picked up a piece and held it to Susan's lips, saying impishly, "I can fix that problem. Let me help."

Susan leaned forward and accepted the offering, savoring the feel of Talia's fingers brushing her mouth.

"The movie will start any minute now," Talia said softly. "And I have no idea what's showing, do you?"

"I forget," said Susan. She shifted her position and glanced quickly over her right shoulder. "What I can't forget is who's sitting behind us."

Talia smiled, slow and sexy. " Maybe I can help you with that, too"

* * *

Sheridan had escorted Delenn into the makeshift auditorium with a flourish. He'd scanned the room, spotting Dr. Franklin on the right hand aisle, with a group of his medical staff, some still in their scrubs. Susan was there, further down, an empty seat to her left. He watched as she fended off a StarFury pilot, Beta squadron it looked like, who attempted to sit next to her. Interesting, he thought, she must be waiting for someone. Looking down at the petite woman on his arm, John felt the warm glow of simple unadulterated happiness. He hoped Susan had a good time with whoever it was. He certainly planned to enjoy the company of his own guest.

"Having a good time?" he asked Delenn, who was gazing about the room with the active curiosity he loved to see in her.

"Yes," she replied, smiling up at him. "It is a odd idea, this passive viewing of static drama. On Minbar, we gather in small groups to interact with the performers. Usually it is a private gathering of a single clan, or a few related families. There are rituals..."

John chuckled, "Why am I not surprised?"

Giving him a look of loving admonition, Delenn continued, "I do not see the cultural value of watching a vid projected onto a large screen while sitting in a group of strangers. This is a popular activity with your people?"

John shook his head, "Not so much these days. I think it's still done in the colonies. Liz has mentioned Dome Nights, where families and couples gather in the main garden dome on Proxima at night, sitting on the ground under the stars, and watch a holo-movie projected on section of the glass. They spread blankets on the grass and bring picnics..." He paused to enjoy the puzzled look in her eyes as she tried to work out the meaning of the unfamiliar word. "Picnics. Meals meant to be eaten out of doors."

"We have those also!" Delenn exclaimed happily. "There is the Feast of Valen, held in high summer. Each caste competes in demonstrations of their special talents, and we gather to watch and take part." Delenn's faced lit up with memories of summers past. "My father often competed in both the Philosophical Commentary and Rhetorical Speaking contests. It was an honor for our family and our clan."

John had stopped in front of a half-row that ended at a broad head-high column. Noting that there were empty seats in the row behind and in front, he steered Delenn into the seat nearest the column. There she could observe the crowd but they would remain partly hidden in shadow. A little privacy might be nice. What was it she had said once, something about being more alone in a crowd? He certainly hoped it was going to be like that tonight. There were advantages to being alone but not alone, sitting close in the darkness, having to lean in close to whisper in her ear...

"Hello, Captain!" Garibaldi was standing at the end of the row, smiling broadly at them.

"Mr. Garibaldi," John acknowledged the Security Chief's presence while trying to drag his mind back to protocol and common courtesy. "Are you alone?"

"Me, myself, and I. My favorite trio. I thought it would be more fun that way. So much to see, both on-screen and off." He gestured at a seat in the row behind them. "Anyone sitting here?"

"Yes." John replied shortly, trying to send a message that was unspoken, yet crystal clear. "The view is better down front."

Garibaldi gave a wry smile, and acknowledged, "So it is. I'll be off then. Captain. Delenn." As he turned to head down the aisle, he called back to them, "Enjoy your date!"

John's face set in stern lines, but crumpled into a smile when he heard Delenn's soft laugh.

"Is that what this is, John?" she asked. "A date?"

He looked down to see her hand resting lightly on his leg. He covered it with his own. "You might say so." Then the lights dimmed twice, then faded out completely, leaving them in darkness. Her hand turned upwards, fingers lacing through his, and tightened slowly.

"John," she began, her voice hesitant.

"Shh," he said. "The movie's starting."

The next moment a Centauri inched through the seats, two rows in front of them. The man settled into a position directly in front of Delenn. John's eyes were still adjusting to the darkness, but he felt Delenn shift against him, and heard her exasperated sigh. He put his arm across the back of her seat, opening up room for her to move closer toward him, and obtain a better view. She responded quickly, pressing up against him and laying her head on his shoulder. The thought of stealing a kiss crossed his mind, but he resolutely denied the impulse.

"Do you mind?" she asked, "I am practically in your seat."

In answer he lowered his arm from the seat back to her shoulder. Now her sigh was a contented one, and he felt his heart swell and his temperature rise. The flickering light sent grey shadows across her face as she studied the pictures moving across the far wall. She glanced back and up at him, eyes wide, pupils dark and deep, and this time he couldn't resist. Reaching over to cup her chin, he tilted her face towards his, and kissed her lightly on the lips. "John," she started to say, with only a slight note of protest.

"No one's watching, Delenn. They're here for the movie." He knew she didn't believe that, any more than he did, but the soft darkness lent an illusion of privacy. As words and music spilled off the screen, he gave in to a luxorious feeling of anonymity, and held her close. She turned in his arms and met his embrace with an ardor he relished. It still took him by surprise, this instant passionate response. He'd spent most of their first encounters trying to judge her actions by Minbari standards he didn't fully understand. Finally, he'd decided to take her words, and her actions, as they were said and done. Lately it seemed as if they were developing a shared language; a lover's language of look and touch.

For instance, it seemed right now she was asking to be kissed. So he did.

* * *

Talia sealed shut the bag of popcorn and set it on the floor. She took Susan's hand in her own, and gently stroked the open palm with her thumb. Susan felt small shocks hitting her nerve endings at the slow light touch, and she had to hold herself still to keep from trembling. Talia leaned close and whispered in her ear, "They're not watching us. No one is watching us."

Susan cautiously looked around her. Garibaldi, a few rows ahead, seemed fixated on the screen. Stephen was talking with a crowd of people, mostly female. He certainly paying attention to anyone outside his immediate circle. Furtively she turned her head to peek at the Captain and Delenn.

"I thought they were going to screen a comedy. This appears to be a romance," remarked Talia. She was watching the movie while she waited for Susan to make her decision, and her next move. She kept a light non-possessive hold on Susan's hand.

"It certainly does," said Susan, trying not to stare. Her superior officer had the Minbari ambassador in a clinch that was almost as embarrassing as it was encouraging. Turning back to Talia, she saw the question in her eyes. "I'm still not comfortable with this," Susan confessed. "Maybe we can skip out at intermission?"

"What did you have in mind?" Talia asked, as she nodded approval and snuggled closer to Susan.

"You're the telepath," said Susan. She looked at Talia, a fleeting pang of apprehension clouding her face.

Talia tightened her grasp momentarily, then let her hand fall open. Her gaze sincere and direct, she declared, "Now and always, you have nothing to fear from me. Ask me, tell me, show me...it's the only way I'll ever know what you want."

"So I have to spell it out?" Susan leaned over and kissed Talia with a fierce urgency that didn't leave any need for telepathy, or any room for doubt. "Any questions?"

Talia managed to take in enough breath to whisper a response. "Only one. How long till intermission?"


	4. A Lock of Hair

Story inspired by _A Lock of Her Hai_r, a poem by Robert Wrigley, not reproduced here but you can find it online at The Poetry Foundation. Written for the LJ Valentine's Day Challenge 2011.

* * *

**Part 1: _My World in a Curl_**

Delenn sat in front of a wall mirror in her quarters, preparing herself for what was turning into a regular weekly dinner date with Captain Sheridan. The dress was appropriate to the event; a Minbari one this time, blue for honour and red for affection. It was more comfortable than the Earth dress she sometimes wore. Comfort was not the only consideration, of course. There was custom and tradition, hidden as well as overt meaning, as there was in everything. There was that interesting spark in John's eyes whenever she wore the human black outfit. But then that spark was present more and more often, regardless of what she was wearing.

Sighing, she returned to her least favorite part of the preparation; dealing with the mop of waves that had crowned her head since her transformation. Ivanova had considerately shown her the basics of dealing with hair; the washing, brushing, the setting in curls. It was at times an oddly restful ritual, but tonight it was just an annoyance. The stuff would not behave the way she wished it to. Dropping the hairbrush to the glass table-top with a clink, she stared into the mirror studying her image. It was familar, yet unfamilar. Sometimes she would be walking past a glass door or a mirrored wall, and catch a glimpse of a stranger. The diminished crest was mostly decoration, a reminder of what lay within; her past self, her Minbari self. To some of her own people she had become an alien. To Lennier and to John, she remained simply Delenn. Lennier did not, or would not, see more; but she thought John saw the truth. The change was not only on the surface. It had gone deep.

The door chime sounded, startling her in the stillness that filled her quarters. John was early, and she was not yet ready. It was rude to be unprepared, but ruder still to keep him waiting outside. "Come," she said to the door, standing and smoothing the wrinkles in her dress. The short front fringe of her hair fell into her eyes, and she blew it back in frustration.

"Hello, Delenn." John stood in the doorway, his large frame blocking the light from the hallway. He was in uniform tonight; she thought he must have come straight from his work. While she examined him, he stood motionless, as if uncertain whether to advance.

"Please come in, and be welcome," she said, extending the ritual words, but personalizing them with a broad smile.

John's face lit up and he entered, letting the door swoosh closed behind him. Delenn did not know how so large and powerful a man could move so quickly and quietly. He was across the room and directly in front of her in an instant. "You look beautiful," he said, and she lowered her eyes. His close presence and sincere admiration flustered her momentarily.

"I am almost ready," she replied, then turned back to the mirror. "Let me attempt once again to tame this...mess." She picked up the silver hairbrush, and resumed her seat. "I will not be long."

John watched her attempts, made a slight grimace, and stepped forward. Leaning down so that his face appeared besides hers in the mirror, he laid one hand on the brush, and said, "May I try?"

Delenn let go of the brush, wondering what he was going to do.

John began to brush her hair, stretching out the strands with the brush, returning to the top, carefully avoiding touching her crest. She was almost disappointed; the vestigial sensation in the bone was still stimulative, although the soft bristles of the brush were almost too rough for comfort. The rhythmic stroking was more pleasurable than she had expected, and she began to wonder if the dinner portion of the evening could be omitted. Suddenly she felt a tug and couldn't stop herself from flinching.

"Sorry, sweetheart," said John. "I haven't done this for anyone in years, and forgot about rats' nests."

Delenn looked shocked. "This hair provides nesting material for animals? How do they obtain it?" She began to look around the room, a little nervously.

"No, no," John reassured her. "Just another human figure of speech, referring to strands that get jumbled up." He attempted to untangle the knot , but it evaded his best efforts. "I'm going to have to trim this a little," he said, reaching into his pocket for a small Swiss laser knife. Scissoring out a small section, he returned to brushing and soon had her tresses smooth and curling slightly at the ends.

"Thank you," she said, placing her hand over his, which was still holding the brush. Leaning her cheek against his hand momentarily, she closed her eyes, wishing that time could stop for just a little while. "I am ready now," she finally said, rising to her feet. John gestured her ahead of him, then followed. Once outside her quarters, they walked close together, heading towards the turbo-lift that would take them to the restaurant he'd chosen.

"John," said Delenn, "do these nests occur often in human hair?"

"No," replied John. He looked down at her and smiled. "I guess you just need to keep it brushed out. When she was a young girl, my sister used to brush hers one hundred strokes a night. Then when she got tired of that, she cut it all off."

Delenn's eyes gleamed for a moment. "That is an option I had not considered."

"Lots of women wear their hair short," said John. "Though for what's it worth, I like yours long."

She thought a moment, then shook her head. "I do not think I want any more changes at this time. I will keep it this way, and learn to deal with it properly."

"I'd be glad to help," John replied with a twinkle in his eye. "Anytime at all." As they walked, his hand slipped into his jacket pocket, and his fingers stroked the curl he'd surreptitiously cut from the back of her hair.

**Part 2: _The Whole of You_**

It had been a long two weeks on Minbar, but at last Delenn and Jeffrey had worked out the problem with the new human recruits to the Anla'Shok. They were a dedicated lot, and promising according to their trainers. Odd, that the choice of food available had caused such trouble. Not everyone appreciated flarn, apparently, for all that it met all the nutritional needs of both Minbari and human, and came in thirty-one flavors.

Walking off the flyer and down the long corridor to the entry to the station from the docking ports, Delenn wondered if John would meet her. She'd sent a message on ahead, and he had minute-to-minute access to docking records. In all likelihood he would be too busy, she chided herself. It was mid-day, and the busiest time of his ten hour shift. Sighing, she picked up the personal bag she carried with her, containing a change of clothes and the documents she was currently working on. Lennier had stayed behind on the station, dealing with everything that came up. Her aide would find her quickly, with a list of items that needed her personal and possibly immediate attention.

The entryway was crowded with passengers disembarking from one of the big freighters inbound from Earth. She found herself carried along with the crowd, most of the humans towering over her. Breaking out of the mass of humanity, she found herself at the main entrance to the Zocalo. Looking around, she didn't see Lennier, or anyone she recognized. Taking a close grip of her bag, shifting it higher on her shoulder, she headed for the main turbo-lift that would get her back to the ambassadorial wing. Moving quickly, head down, she bumped into a man in an EarthForce uniform coming the opposite direction.

"Please excuse me," she said, after a quick glance at the stranger's face.

"Delenn!" said the man. "I was just coming to meet you! How was your trip?"

Delenn started to move away, but the man caught at her arm. "Hey...what's wrong?"

Suddenly her mind put together the voice and the face, even obscured as it was. "John?" she said, looking more closely. Then she laughed, "I did not recognize you! What have you done to your face?"

Sheridan stroked his short, slightly ragged beard, and said, "It's just a beard. Thought I'd try it out while you were gone." As he watched her tilt her head from one side to the other, examining his new look, he asked, "Why, don't you like it?"

"I am not certain," admitted Delenn. "It makes you look unlike yourself. I find it somewhat unsettling."

John was taken aback and even a little annoyed, but then he threw his head back and laughed. "I'm the same person underneath. Here, let me prove it to you." He pulled her close and regardless of the semi-observant public, thoroughly kissed her. After a few moments, he released her, while keeping her lightly within his embrace. "Well, is it me or not?"

"The evidence is convincing," replied Delenn. "But I am still not sure I approve." John took the bag from her shoulder and she twined her arm around his waist as they continued towards her quarters. "It tickles," she confessed, "and even scratches a little." As they walked down the corridor towards the lift, she added, "I do not understand how hair on the face can be both rough and smooth at the same time."

John reached up one hand and touched his mustache, then ran his hand over what he hoped would become a chin-encircling beard. "Depends on the length I think. But it's just an experiment. Honestly, I got busy and forgot to shave, that's how it started. We had two docks go down at once and ships were stacked up to our ass...um, I mean dozens were in line. Ivanova tried to handle it all herself, of course. I eventually had to order her to stand down and delegate some of her responsibilties. Garibaldi meanwhile is tied up in a major operation in DownBelow. The smugglers have got a leg up on us; illegal arms are starting to show up on the black market down there and percolate up above. They were used in a string of robberies along the south end of the Zocalo..."

Delenn listened with complete attention in one part of her brain, sorting out the items where she might be of assistance from those where all she could offer was a sympathetic ear. At the same time she was intensely aware of his presence, finding it both comforting and stimulating. When they reached her quarters, she asked him inside, justifying the time she was spending with him as part of station support. After all, the Minbari were half responsible for the mission of the station, and there seemed to be some problems with which she could help.

Once inside, she went into the kitchen area to prepare tea. It had been a long journey. Her com station light was blinking furiously, presumably indicative of Lennier's attempts to alert her to her duty. Sometimes she rather wished there was less duty and more pleasure allotted to her sworn service. Returning to the main living area with a tray containing the tea and an assortment of fruit and crisp tenn'sha wafers. John had loosened his jacket, unfastening the front and letting it fall open, revealing the snow-white shirt underneath.

Delenn laid the tray on the table in front of the couch where John sat, and took her place beside him. She handed him a cup of tea, but he reached for it at the same time and the liquid sloshed over his cuff and splashed his shirtfront. She reached for a cloth to dab at the stains, but he waved her away.

"Don't worry, it's nothing," he said.

She protested, "Let me see if I can fix it," but her voice stumbled a bit as he shrugged off his jacket and rapidly unbuttoned his shirt.

John had let his hair grow out as well, and as he pulled the shirt over his head, one of the buttons caught and became entangled. "Ouch!" he cried. "The damn thing's stuck," and he continued to yank at the material.

"Hold still," Delenn said. She went to a nearby table, pulled out a drawer and took out a small crystal knife. Leaning over the back of the couch, she clipped off the tangled strand and freed the shirt. Drawing in a breath as he finished stripping it off, she slipped the hair absently into an outer pocket of her robe. Taking the shirt from him, she left the room to place it in the sonic cleaner. Returning to the living area, she took her seat next to him, outwardly calm. John sipped his tea, then carefully placed the cup on the tray in front of him.

"I feel a little underdressed," he said. "Maybe I should call the station laundry and request a new uniform shirt." He continued with a smile, "Of course having it delivered here might cause some talk."

"That would probably not be wise," replied Delenn demurely. Then a thought occurred to her,"But perhaps it is I that am overdressed." Innocence filled her voice as she mused aloud, "It would be impolite to leave a guest in discomfort. It is against all the rules of hospitality."

"Of course," said John. "We can't have that." He stretched his arms up, crossing his hands behind his head, and was gratified to see her eyes widen as she took in the sight. "Can I help?" he said as she rose to her feet, standing directly in front of him.

"No, John," said Delenn, and she began to unfasten her robes.

**Part 3: _Thrills Remembered_**

It was a few days later when Delenn discovered the strands of John's hair in the pocket of her robe. Pulling it out, she laid it down and smoothed it flat. Thinking for a moment, she went to her bedroom and brought out a roll of shan'sha fiber, used in some ritual clothing. She kept it around for quick repairs, although she was no seamstress. Using the same knife she had used to cut his hair, she clipped off a piece of thread, saying the appropriate ritual words under her breath, and tied the hair in two places with an intricate knot. Considering where to place it, she opened a drawer in the side table along the wall under the window looking out to the green central area of the station. Pulling out a highly polished wooden box, inlaid with crystals in a triangular design, she opened it carefully. Inside were memories, important pieces of her past. Minbari did not value possessions like some of the other races, but each one had a memory box. Keeping all your most important possessions limited to the contents of one box led you to regularly reassess your priorities, as well as to regularly take a walk through your past.

Her mother's flute was there, a short simple instrument of silver and black crystal. She had left it behind when she had gone to serve Valeria. Delenn had never discovered any of her mother's musical talent inside herself. There was a pen her father had used when he wrote his articles and essays, preferring the old-fashioned implement to tablet and stylus or voice recordings. A piece of Dukhat's staff lay within; the simple one he used outside the Council Chamber. Once she had accompanied him on a visit planet-side, and they had walked through a park, and he had used this stick for balance, and she privately thought, for style. It had been broken at some point, and he had discarded it. She had found and kept a piece from the top where his hand had gripped it and his palm had polished one side smooth. One of Mayan's poems was there, the scroll tightly rolled to hide the personal revelations put into song by her oldest friend. Now Delenn laid the shan'sha-wrapped lock of John's hair inside and closed the box, leaving it on the table intending to go through the other items later. It was good to remember, but also to look forward.

It was a day full of meetings and problems to be solved, and it was late when Delenn returned to her quarters. The evening rituals were not as relaxing as usual, and it took her a while to calm her mind to attend to them properly. Afterwards she changed into her sleeping robes and prepared a light repast, then settled down on the couch to eat. Calling out to the computer, she asked for a instrumental piece from her childhood. The sound of chimes set up a tinkling harmony which subsided as the high-pitch of a flute soared over a rumbling drumbeat. The beat settled into the steady rhythm of a Minbari heartbeat, a rhythm that her heart no longer followed.

The door chimed, and she sighed and set aside the small crystal plate. It was probably another plea from the Vree to set aside the trade treaty she'd negotiated only last year. She had been dodging the ambassador all day, which was probably why the Universe had allowed her to be tracked down now.

Picking up a robe, she pulled it on quickly, and called out, "Come," releasing the lock on the door with a vocal cue.

The door opened and instead of the angular visage of the Vree ambassador, she was surprised to see John Sheridan's figure outlined in the light. "John," she said, a little embarrassed at how her voice warmed. "Is there anything wrong?"

"No, no," John replied.

The uncertainty in his tone alarmed her slightly, and she gestured at the couch. He crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the couch near the light. She sat in a chair opposite him, studying his weary face. "What is it?"

"I wanted to see you," John confessed. "It's been a long day, and I just...wanted to see you." He shook his head in and rubbed the back of his neck. "It makes things better when I talk to you." Jokingly he added, "Maybe I'm afraid you'll forget what I look like."

A pang of guilt went through Delenn. "I did not recognize you when I returned." Then she smiled, a little sadly, and said, "I thought I had learned long ago to look beyond the surface that people present."

John leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and resting his chin on his clasped hands. "I just came upon you unexpectedly. Don't beat yourself up over it. I can always get rid of the beard," he offered.

Tilting her head to examine him, she said thoughtfully, "Truly, it does not matter to me. I will not mistake you again." Rising to her feet, she crossed to room to the side table and picked up the wooden box. Walking back and taking a seat next to him on the couch, she opened it, and picked up the lock of hair bound in silver threads. "I placed this in my memory box yesterday. It is not that I need it to remember you, but it is an indication of your importance in my life." Replacing the strand carefully, she closed the box and put it aside. "Now, and I hope, in the future." Leaning up against him, she looked up with eyes full of remembered thrills. He put his arm around her, and proceeded to add to her stock of memories.

A hour or so later, John returned to his quarters. Several calls had come in to do with the situation at the docks, and he dealt with them all quickly and efficiently, although part of his mind was in another part of the station altogether. Finally, he put the computer on emergency notification only, and headed for his sleeping quarters. On his way, he stopped by the side table and pulled open the top drawer. Inside lay a picture of Anna, and he touched it gently with one finger, with love and regret, as always. Next to it lay the curl he had cut from Delenn's hair. The sight of it brought her complete and whole to his mind's eye, and for a moment it was as if she stood there before him. He picked up the lock of hair and studied it. How could such a small thing contain the whole of her? Replacing it and gently closing the drawer, he walked into his bedroom. That's my world in a curl, he thought, and he prepared for what he hoped would be not many more nights alone.

_"…..the ropes_

_of it that gently fell around me bound me so well_

_no hell of miles can defile this dream I dream."_


	5. Wardrobe Malfunction

**Wardrobe Malfunction**

_Standard disclaimer applies; not my characters or settings or backgrounds. But they are my words._

* * *

"Excuse me, Ambassador, Captain!" Michael Garibaldi barely paused in his headlong rush towards the docking area.

"Trouble, Michael?" John called after him, sounding worried at the haste that had his chief of Security barreling across the crowded atrium towards the corridor.

"No, sir!" came back a definitive shout as Michael disappeared down the long corridor that led to the welcome area for incoming passenger ships.

Delenn stared after Michael, wondering what had him careening around corners, balanced on one leg like one of the cartoon characters of which he was so fond. Her curiosity led her to linger around one of the ubiquitous pushcarts that lined the Zocalo, fingering one strand of brightly colored stones after another. John didn't seem to mind, for all that he had told her he was already late for a meeting with the representatives of the Docker's Guild. Delenn chatted brightly with John, in between listening to the shopkeeper's outlandish tales of the extreme value and secretive origins of what looked like common, if pretty, beads of glass, and watching for Michael to reappear.

Finally Michael came back around the corner. He was carrying a small valise, and accompanied by a human female, a head shorter than he was, but with much more hair. The smile on Michael's face proclaimed the woman's importance to him, but Delenn thought there was also strain showing in his posture and attitude. Turning to John, she asked, "Who is that with Mr. Garibaldi?"

"No idea," replied John absently as his link chimed for the third time, recalling him to his duties. "I'm going to have to go, Delenn."

"But have you no record of this person?" Delenn persisted. "They know one another, obviously quite well. Are they a couple? Surely their relationship is registered?"

"Registered?" John's eyes widened. "You register relationships? With your clan, or with your government?" Giving a short laugh, he asked, semi-serious, "I suppose that means we're registered somewhere?"

Delenn looked chagrined. "Not as such. Not yet." Her momentary discomfiture was overcome by curiosity again. "I don't think I've ever seen Michael so happy," she remarked. An idea occurred to her. "We should have them for dinner. I will see to it." Smiling up at John, she asked, "Are you free tonight?"

John hit the mute on his comlink one more time. "I'll make time. Let me know when you want me." He leaned over and kissed her cheek and strode off towards the turbo-lift.

Delenn watched him walk away, admiring the view. It would be hard to settle on one particular time she wanted John.

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"Lise, honey, why didn't you tell me you'd gotten an earlier flight? I could have gotten us dinner reservations, or even better, picked up some supplies. There's not a thing at my place. I was planning on shopping later today." He hefted her bag over his shoulder, and took hold of her hand.

Lise flushed and swung a little on his arm like a child enjoying an outing. "I didn't come all this way for the food, Michael." Looking around the corridor, which was surprisingly empty, she swiftly turned and pinned Michael against the wall. Sliding her arms around his neck, and standing on tiptoe to reach, she kissed him thoroughly.

Michael Garibaldi was pretty sure he'd never done anything to deserve this. That didn't mean he wasn't prepared to settle back and enjoy it. One hand was occupied with the luggage, but the other was available for exploration. After a few engrossing moments, he heard voices and then the approaching tread of solitary footsteps. Reluctantly, he slipped out from under Lise's encircling arms and blew out his cheeks in a futile attempt to cool himself down.

"Hey, Zack," he said casually. "Anything going on?"

The rangy man in the grey uniform of Babylon 5 Security looked from his boss's carefully casual expression to the flushed face of the pretty woman under his arm, and shook his head. "Not a thing. Not that it matters," he added sternly. "You're off duty, as of this afternoon. For three whole days. You told me to remind you of that if you started asking about work." He cracked a smile, then bobbed his head towards Lise. "Ma'am," he said, and moved on down the corridor, whistling an off-key tune under his breath.

"What the hell is that?" Michael asked, not expecting an answer.

"'Some Enchanted Evening'," replied Lise, laughing. Then, cocking her head and examining Michael closely, she said, "You took all three days off? I'm impressed." Then, turning serious, she added, "It's a good thing, too. We need to talk."

Michael felt the smile freeze onto his face. "Of course, honey," he said smoothly, hoping his apprehension didn't leak through. "Now come on, let's get you settled in."

It was a short walk to his quarters. When Lise had called and told him she was coming for a visit, he'd offered to set her up in guest quarters. She'd told him his place would be fine. He hoped the shock hadn't shown on his face. That was the problem with real-time video links in his humble opinion. They left little room for a guy to hide his natural reactions.

He keyed open the door with his ID card and stood aside to let Lise go in first. Michael sauntered inside after her, and set the bag on the floor between the kitchen and the bedroom. It seemed a neutral enough position. Lise had gone into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. Michael sat down and nodded his acceptance of Lise's offer of a another glass. Lise sat opposite him, and rested her chin in her right hand. "So, Michael," she said.

Michael took a long drink, and set down the glass. "What's this all about, Lise? Not just a vacation then?

"Not just a vacation," Lise stated definitively. She sighed deeply, and took his hand. "I wanted to talk to you about..."

Just then the com-system chimed. Michael jumped up and headed for the welcome interruption. "Sorry, Lise. Gotta take this, might be important." Inwardly he winced. That sounded like he thought the message was more important than what she had come to say. He already suspected that his emphasis on his work was the crux of their problems.

The com informed him that the message was from Delenn. "Play message," he said.

"Michael, I know it is late notice, and I will understand if you have already made plans, but I would be honored if you and your companion would care to dine with me tonight. John will be in attendance as well." The Ambassador's face was bright and open, the invitation sincere "Please let me know, at your convenience, if you can come. I look forward to hearing from you."

The screen winked out, but the 'reply requested' light continued to flash. Michael looked over at Lise. "You wanna go? Delenn won't mind either way."

Lise looked steadily back at him. "Sure. Won't get you out of this conversation, you understand that, right?"

Michael nodded. "Got it." He hit the reply button and recorded their acceptance, then sent it on to Delenn. Crossing back over to the table, he sat down. Lise regarded him silently, a barely hidden smile lighting her eyes.

"We have three days," she said. Rising in one smooth motion, she came over to his side of the table and settled herself on his lap, putting her arms around his neck. She whispered in his ear, a breathy buzzing that set his nerve endings on fire. "And since we're now busy this evening, maybe we should switch up the schedule a little..."

Michael didn't get a chance to express an opinion one way or another. Then again, actions speak louder than words, and Michael Garibaldi was most definitely a man of action.

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John Sheridan approached Delenn's quarters with a com-tablet in one hand, and a sheaf of flowers wrapped in silvery paper tucked under his arm. He was signing orders on the tablet as he walked, trying to finish up enough work to allow him to forget his all-encompassing job for the evening. Reaching the door, he checked the time on the top of the tablet and realized he was quite a bit early. Delenn won't mind, he thought. She'd like the company, and maybe he could help with dinner. With Lennier off-station, she'd be preparing the meal herself. Though maybe that wasn't the best idea though, given his lack of culinary aptitude. Of course if she'd ordered in, they could talk...or he could work. Sighing, he grimaced. With any luck he could finish up this stack of reports before another pile landed on his desk.

Pressing his thumb on the keypad, he waited for a moment, then pressed it again impatiently. She must be busy cooking, he mused, and keyed in his personal entry code. As the door swished open, he stepped inside, eyes still focused on the screen he held. How in the world did this station use so much water? He was going to have to increase the reclamation efforts or be forced to institute further rationing.

A whiff of the subtle scent that indicated Delenn was near brought his eyes up in an wholly involuntary motion. He could just see her shadow passing behind the clouded glass dividers, closed to allow privacy in the sleeping area. The light within was two dim spots, low and far away, about where the bedside lamps stood. A brighter flicker just inside the door and to the left indicated she had lit one of the candles in the room, probably the big one that stood on the low table that held her hairbrush and the polished granite tray where she laid out her jewelry. Crossing to the kitchen he laid down the flowers and the tablet on the divider, noting the carefully arranged buffet meal. The dining table was set for four, and an empty vase stood in the middle. He smiled; she had expected the flowers. The room was lit by the neon tubes that stood upright in what looked to be a vase. He was never sure whether it was a sculpture, a light fixture, or some kind of cleaning device. Starting back towards the bedroom, he started to call out and let her know he was there.

But instead he stopped, and he watched.

She was standing at the foot of the bed, examining something laid out there, presumably her outfit for the evening. His breath caught as a rectangle of shadow detached from her outline, and she brought what must be a towel up to dry her hair. After a few languorous strokes, the cloth was carefully folded and laid across the back of a chair, and then she went over to the table to pick up another object. The candlelight flickered, revealing briefly a curve of breast and swell of hip as her arms rose and she began brush out her her hair.

Part of John wanted to stay and watch the shadow play, but the opportunity was too good to let pass. He approached the opening to the glass doors, pushed them slightly apart, and said quietly, "Delenn, it's me."

She turned towards him, startlement apparent in the lines of her body. John closed the gap between them and reached out for the brush. "May I?" he asked. She nodded and slowly turned away from him, allowing him access to her thick curls, lying in damp waves across her bare shoulders. He lifted the brush and began to pull it through her hair in long slow strokes. As the brush came to the end of the strands, John pulled it lightly down her back, enjoying the flicker of the small muscles just under her skin as they reacted to the caress of the soft bristles. Moving her hair to one side, he began to kiss her neck, and dropped the brush to the floor as his hands encircled her waist. Her skin was cool from the shower, but flushed and rapidly warmed under his lips.

Uttering a soft moan, Delenn turned in his embrace and met his lips with her own. John smiled into the kiss. He wouldn't be rationing water in the diplomatic quarters, not when it was put to such a good use.

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Lise used the air dryer to finish drying her hair, then looked through the clothes in her carryall. What did you wear to dinner with the station's Captain and the Minbari ambassador? She pulled out the one good dress she'd packed, then set it aside. Slacks and a sweater would probably do. Michael and Captain Sheridan would probably be in their normal everyday uniforms; she didn't want to over-dress. Pulling the sweater over her head, she tugged her hair free of the collar and gave it a final flip into place. Leaving the bedroom she joined Michael, who was talking into his comlink. When she entered, he guiltily signed off with a "I'll check it out later, Lou. Gotta go." Lise just smiled, noting that Michael had changed into a clean jacket, but hadn't put on his dress uniform.

"You ready?" Michael asked. He stood and gave her an appreciative look. "Don't want to be late. Delenn's a good sort, but she's a stickler for the formalities. She's got kind of a thing for punctuality."

Lise nodded, a trifle apprehensive, and took the arm Michael offered her. "Let's go," she said.

As they walked down the corridor to the turbo-lift, Lise asked, "So how long has this been going on?"

"The Captain and Delenn?" replied Michael. "Pretty much since he hit the station and she left the cocoon."

"Cocoon?" laughed Lise. "You're joking, right? I never heard that the Minbari had a larval stage!"

"You know she changed to become more human-well, it all happened inside this big round web... thing." He held one hand about chest high, apparently giving up on a more complete description. "It stood there in her quarters for weeks. Happened just before Jeff left and Sheridan got here. Anyway, when Delenn came out of it, she was the way she is now." Under his breath, Michael added, "And Sheridan never stood a chance." Lise raised one eyebrow and Michael grinned down at her. "No more than I did with you," he added, pulling her close against his side.

Lise pressed against him, then moved away and took his hand. She smiled to herself as Michael tightened his grip, enveloping her small hand in his larger one. His face was wreathed in a foolish grin, and Lise heard a brief warbling whistle emerge from his lips. Lise leaned into his arm and remarked casually, "It won't do your image any good if you're heard singing in the corridor."

"My image?" replied Michael. "And what kind of image do you imagine I have around here?"

Lise looked up at him and squinted thoughtfully. "Competent, driven, and fair. That's how you're seen by the people you work with. And as a total hard ass by everyone else."

"Sounds about right," Michael answered with a tinge of smug self-satisfaction. Stopping at a gun-metal grey door exactly like all the others they'd passed, he added, "Here we are!"

Lise didn't have a chance to feel nervous before the door opened, Michael entered with her in tow behind him, and she was drawn into what was obviously an intimate circle of friends and co-workers. Delenn welcomed her formally but quickly started an easy conversation that soon had Lise settling into the familiarity of normal social give-and-take. Captain Sheridan and Michael started on a line of shop talk, which Delenn adroitly broke up with the announcement that the dinner was set out, and they were to help themselves.

After much clanking of plates, all four of them settled around the low table. Lise had taken some of everything. It was the best part of traveling; experiencing new things. She was seated next to the Captain, with Michael opposite her. Lise was enjoying the conversation with Captain Sheridan; he had traveled all over settled space. As her next stop after the station was to be Centauri Prime, she was especially interested in his memories of the capital city. Delenn was chatting amiably on her right, but Michael was strangely silent. Lise darted a glance at him and was surprised to see the still look on his face that indicated severe discomfort. In between questions and answers with Sheridan, she watched Michael. His eyes were high, low, darting sideways; set everywhere but straight at Delenn.

When Delenn rose and offered to bring in the tea, Lise quickly offered to help. Once in the kitchen Lise took a good look up and down her hostess. Oh my, she thought, and wondered what the diplomatic conventions would say about this situation. She had even less idea what a Minbari etiquette book would say. Still, it was one woman to another, and that was a sorority that might, almost, transcend species. "Delenn," she began, "I think you should know..." Here she gestured discreetly at the other woman's torso. Delenn looked down and flushed bright red.

Lise maneuvered behind Delenn, blocking the view from the dining area, and added quietly, "You can do it up here or slip off to the bathroom." She caught the fleeting look of mortification on Delenn's face before the Minbari woman turned away to fumble at the buttons on her robes. "I'm sure no one's noticed," Lise added in an attempt at comfort, even though she knew Michael had. He'd done his best not to show it, but not much escaped Michael Garibaldi.

Lise picked up a tray from the counter, carefully balancing the thin triangle of white porcelain that contained four delicate cups. Delenn picked up a tall carafe with a long slender spout. Lise admired the woman's poise. It wasn't a major incident, but it had obviously rocked Delenn, and Lise could appreciate the other woman's quick return to calm self-possession-it must come with being a diplomat.

The rest of the evening went off without incident. Lise almost giggled at the relief in Michael's face when Delenn sat back down across from him. It was evident in the relaxation of the muscles around his mouth, and the release of the death grip he'd had on his fork. After tea, Michael used his eyebrows to ask her if she was ready to go, and Lise nodded thankfully. They still had a lot to talk about; and she was tired from the long journey.

Once out in the corridor, they walked in comfortable silence together back towards the turbo-lift that would take them back to blue sector and Michael's quarters. Lise had pondered all the long trip out how to approach the subject of their future, and whether it would ever be spent together.

"You like it here," she finally remarked, trying to sound casual. It didn't work. She felt the muscles in Michael's arm tense under her hand.

"I do. It's a job I'm good at, and Sheridan's a pretty good boss. He's a little too old-school military for my taste, but adaptable. Running this crazy place takes someone who's a little crazy themselves. He's no Jeff Sinclair, but he'll do." Michael looked down at her. "What is this trip all about?"

Lise sighed. "It really is a business trip. The gallery I managed obtained a patron, a very rich patron, in the guise of William Edgars."

Michael pursed his mouth and let out a low whistle. "Of Edgars Industries? That's some angel you've landed."

Lise nodded emphatically. "He has some distinct ideas about where our business should expand, notably into alien art. Mars doesn't have much of a cultural scene, but he liked some of the displays I put together. In any case, he made his wishes clear, and indicated I should hire a good manager and take on the buying myself. I have a good eye for what appeals to high-income Marsies and Earth tourists, if I do say so myself. And I love exposing the folks back home to other cultures and little-known artists."

Michael sucked on his lower lip, thinking hard. "Mars is still home to you."

"More than Earth at this point," Lise replied. "It's only missing one thing..."

Michael waggled his eyebrows up and down suggestively, "And what would that be?"

Lise punched his arm gently. "You, of course." She walked in silence for a moment, then said, "I can make Babylon 5 my base of operations. It's near a major gate and its neutrality makes it a good staging place for interstellar business. There are more mercantile-oriented worlds, but I thought..." Here she flushed and looked straight ahead, speaking rapidly, "I thought we could try living together. When I'm here. And see how it goes. What do you think?" She stole a sideways glance. Michael was now chewing on the inside of his cheek. He didn't have that stiff stunned look though, which boded well.

"Are you suggesting you stay at my place when you're passing through?" asked Michael carefully.

"Yes," replied Lise, her nerves a-jangle. Michael was such a conservative guy; never one to look for casual relationships. Of course, it wasn't her style either.

"Not proposing marriage, are you?" Michael added, obviously trying to keep things light.

"If that's what it takes," Lise replied bluntly. Now he looked stunned. Good, she thought, something had to break them out of this holding pattern. "You're not ready to leave this post, or EarthForce. I would like to end up back on Mars, with you. I thought I might meet you halfway, try this for a set period of time, see how we get on." Her eyes dimmed, "I miss you, Michael. I want to know if you're just something for me to remember, or something for me to look forward to."

Michael stopped in the middle of the hallway leading to his quarters and took her into his arms. Burying his face briefly in her slightly fragrant hair, he spoke into the thick tresses, "My contract's up in a couple of years, honey. I've been thinking that would be a good time to quit this gig."

Lise leaned back, and looked up at him, while staying in the circle of his embrace. "I don't want to wait. I think we need to move forward now, or let it go."

Michael nodded once, sharp and quick. "Forward it is, ma'am." He tilted his head to one side. "Am I going to have to petition for larger quarters? I'm not sure there are any short of the diplomatic suites!"

"I don't come with much baggage," laughed Lise, moving back to his side as they started to walk ahead. At his door, she sighed heavily. "You never did go grocery shopping, did you?"

Michael slid his card into the door slot, activating the opening, and looked at her. "Why? You can't be hungry-we just ate!"

Lise made a small pout. "You know what they say about Minbari food...eat it, and you're hungry half an hour later."

Michael's face creased into a grin. "I'm sure I can come up with something that'll satisfy you." Then he swiftly leaned down and scooped her up into his arms. "Care to cross the threshold with me?"

"Yes, Michael," replied Lise. Further conversation was cut off by Michael's lips as the door snicked closed behind them.

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John Sheridan was happily puttering around Delenn's kitchen, putting dishes away after they were quick-cleaned by the 'fresher and wrapping the leftover food and stowing it in the cooler. Delenn had quietly acquiesced to his offer to clean up, and she was lighting candles in preparation for her evening meditation. As he finished up, he became aware of a strained quality to her silence, and straightening the last cloth on the drying rack, he left the kitchen and walked over to where she was sitting on the couch, staring at one of several candle flames.

"Hey," he said softly, not wanting to interrupt. "Are you okay? I had a good time tonight; everyone did."

Delenn looked up, eyes wide in the dim light of the living area. "Ms. Hampton made me aware of a problem this evening. I was just debating whether it would have been best to apologize directly to my guests."

John's eyebrows raised high at this admission. "What kind of problem? I didn't notice anything."

Giving a slight embarrassed smile, Delenn gestured obscurely at the front of her dress. "My attire was not appropriate."

John looked her up and down. "You look fine to me." He didn't want to belittle her concerns. This might be a cultural misunderstanding, so the thing to do was go slow and let her explain at her own pace.

A blush washed over her cheeks, setting them afire as she said stiffly, "I dressed rapidly...after...we...that is, I did not dress with the care necessary to properly honor my guests."

A light came on in John's mind. "You mean you missed a few fasteners?" His eyes drifted down the front of her robes, thinking it was a shame he hadn't noticed at the time. Taking her hands in his, he pulled her up and into his arms. "We call that a wardrobe malfunction. Happens to the best of us. The polite thing to do is ignore it."

Delenn protested, "Is it not better to fix a mistake than to leave it alone?" She added gratefully, "I consider it a great kindness that Ms. Hampton, that is, Lise, made me aware of the error so that I could remedy it." Sighing deeply, she added, "I wish it had not happened at all. But what is done cannot be undone."

"I wouldn't say that," John contradicted. His voice was low, barely audible over the sudden sharp pounding of his heart.

One of John Sheridan's greatest strengths was strategic planning. But he could also recognize and take advantage of unexpected opportunities. And so, with infinite care, but little delay, he raised his hands to Delenn's breast, and slowly began to undo what had been done.


	6. Sparks

**Sparks**

Author's Note: In this series, there are no Shadows and all our couples are established and happy. This story details how the Captain and Delenn got together in this AU. There is an Epilogue which you can skip unless you like Susan and Lennier as buddies. Inspired by the Taylor Swift song.

_'Drop everything now,_

_Meet me in the pouring rain_

_Kiss me on the sidewalk, take away the pain_

_Cause I see sparks fly_

_Whenever you smile'_

_-Taylor Swift_

* * *

Lennier walked through the bustling open market area of the station known as the Zocalo. He had read that 'zocalo' was an Earth word indicating a large open space in the center of a town. He made a slight face as he bowed and apologized to the fifth person to bump into him in the last five minutes. Glancing around him at the mobile carts and small storefronts that lined the crowded area, and the milling crowd of many species that filled the walkways, he reflected that 'open' must have an alternate meaning for the humans.

Reaching inside his robe, he felt for the cylindrical metal tube that contained the basis of his errand. He was to find Captain Sheridan and give him the message contained therein. It had puzzled Lennier, this method Delenn had chosen to contact the Captain. There was the com-system, and in addition she saw him every other day or so on business relating to the mission of the station. Still, his was not to question Delenn's decisions, merely to obey her commands.

Captain John Sheridan was walking swiftly towards C&C, eager to return to the familiar environment of a military command center. Time spent in conference rooms and council chambers was more stressful than any amount of time spent on the bridge of a warship, and he was looking forward to some normal military routine. As he approached the turbo-lift that would take him away from all things diplomatic, he heard a voice call out.

"Captain, may I speak with you a moment?"

John turned and saw the Minbari ambassador's aide hurrying towards him. "Of course, Lennier," he said, turning his back on the lift doors, which opened and then closed behind him. He'd been that close. Stifling a sigh, he awaited Lennier's approach. "What can I do for you?" he asked politely.

Lennier held out a short tube towards John, and he took it. "What is it?" John asked, turning it over and over in his hands. There was a slightly recessed button on one end, and he pushed it, almost dropping it as it extended with a soft 'snick'. A thin strip of paper curled out of the opening.

"It is a message from Delenn," said Lennier simply. "And now that I have delivered it, I ask that you excuse me, as I must return to my duties." His curiosity was piqued by the note, he had to admit it, but it was not for his eyes, and he did have much to do. At the Captain's nod of dismissal, he made a respectful bow, turned, and left.

John carefully removed the paper and opened it between his hands. The script was flowing and easy to read. It was an invitation.

Letting out a low whistle, John rubbed the back of his head. Ever since Delenn had entered the council chamber, lowered her hood, and their eyes had met, he'd wished there was some way he could get to know her better, and not in a diplomatic way. No, what he had in mind was more...intimate. The constraints of their mutual roles continually worked to keep them apart, even as they collaborated on various projects. Now she wanted to meet privately, to extend a 'hand across the divide between their peoples' as she put it. Given his personal history with her people, it was truly ironic. That was life for you. One minute people were shooting at you, the next they were inviting you over for tea and conversation.

The call of C&C wasn't nearly as seductive as the proposition he'd just received. Carefully coiling the invitation back inside the tube, he sternly warned himself against reading more into this than an offer of potential friendship. But it was a start, John thought as he smiled to himself. He remembered his first look into Delenn's eyes. The warmth in the depths of that green gaze had threatened to thaw the ice that had built up around his heart since Anna's death. He wasn't sure he was ready. But the only way to find out was to go ahead and try.

Delenn walked around and around her quarters, checking that all was in readiness. She had met queens and emperors, presidents and regents in the course of her diplomatic duties. She had been an acolyte of Dukhat himself, and a member of the Grey Council. No formal meeting or difficult negotiation had caused her as much consternation as this social evening. The new Captain was...intimidating? That was not quite the correct word. Intriguing? That was perhaps closer, but the aptness of the word was in itself disturbing. Then again, everything about Captain Sheridan and the feelings he aroused in her was disturbing. It was best to face these things. This thought almost startled her. She had not always believed this. Perhaps it was the humanity coming out in her. The humans had a propensity of approaching potentially difficult situations 'head on' as they described it.

The door chimed and she felt a sudden warmth in her cheeks and a flutter in her midsection. Nervously, she smoothed down her hair, a gesture unfamiliar to her, but still somehow comforting. "Open," she called, and stood awaiting her guest.

John Sheridan was new to this diplomatic business, although he'd grown up with it and absorbed some of the niceties by osmosis if nothing else. As a ranking EarthForce officer, he was trained in first contact situations, empowered both to enforce treaties and to wage war. He'd been married, twice; once very successfully. Pulling his shoulders back, he pushed firmly on the door chime. Tea with a beautiful and friendly, if enigmatic, alien? Piece of cake.

When the door pulled up and back into the wall, John entered, ducking slightly. He was still used to the low archways of a ship. "Ambassador," he said, formally acknowledging her presence, although who else he expected to be in her quarters this time of night he didn't know. Lennier was the most likely and he covertly glanced around to see if she had included her aide in this detente. She laced her fingers together, and made a slight bow, at the precise angle and of the precise duration due his status. He mimicked the motion, then cleared his throat and said, "Thank you for the invitation. I have been hoping for some time alone with you." _Ouch_, he thought. _That didn't sound quite right_.

Delenn nodded, and replied absently, "I too." Then, seeming flustered, she added, "That is, it is good for us to learn about one another." As his eyebrows raised slightly, she went on rapidly, "Our peoples that is. It is good for us to know one another in order to better represent our respective races. Here. On the station." Taking refuge from her own confusion in a blinding smile, she extended one hand towards the low table that filled the center of the living area. "Please sit. I am foregoing the full introductory ceremony since we have already met. But there are a few rituals attendant to this type of meeting, and I would like to share them with you."

John waited standing until she took her place at the table, kneeling on the floor, arranging her robes gracefully. Then, inwardly groaning at his awkwardness, he joined her, crossing his legs carefully so as not to dislodge the cups and plates on the table. They were thin, almost translucent, and silvery-white. There was a large platter filled with an assortment of exotic fruits and what looked like petite pastries. He hoped his stomach wasn't growling; he'd had to skip dinner to make it to her quarters on time. Her voice slid in and around his conscious mind, weaving a spell of tone and intent even though the words themselves were not understood. She was pouring tea, setting cups out in a pattern, speaking to him and to herself as she half-recited, half-chanted soft words of welcome and companionship. It warmed him more than the tea he accepted from her when the words stopped.

After a moment spent sipping and staring in silence, John cleared his throat and set down his cup. His large hands were momentarily still, loosely circling the fragile porcelain. He felt more at ease and relaxed than he had since he set foot on Babylon 5. "Why is this so important to you?" he asked. "It's not that I don't agree with the premise, that we need to get beyond our differences...but it seems personal with you. Why else would you..." and here he gestured at her hair and face, "Why did you do it?" he concluded gently. As her face flushed in distress, he added quickly, "I'm not judging you, or your intent. I just want to understand."

Delenn drew a deep breath. "It is the war, of course, that stands between us. We lived in isolation and relative peace for many hundreds of years until we encountered your survey ship, with disastrous results for both our peoples. It has left many hard feelings, understandably, and it is our wish to to foster dialogue via this station in order to prevent another occurrence."

John nodded his agreement, but pressed on. "But why did you change? What did you hope to learn?"

Delenn shook her head. "The reasons were varied. They lie deep in our culture but are also personal, as you say. Sometimes the Universe requires a change of perspective, and that is what this transformation provides. I am afraid I cannot explain completely. I hold a position where I know more than I can say, and I must adhere to my government's instructions. You must have similar restrictions?" she asked.

"God yes," replied John. "The military has a strict hierarchy and chain of command, direct, straight-forward. Nothing like Earth Gov. Multiple factions, dozens of politicians, all with their own agendas, and no clear way to deal with them. It was simpler on board ship."

"I suspect it was," Delenn sympathized. "But the Universe puts us where it needs us to be. You must be needed here."

"I suppose so," John said doubtfully. Returning to his question, he pressed gently, "So was this change suggested by your government? Or did you decide on your own the Universe wanted you to see things a little differently?"

Delenn said, a bit ruefully. "The Universe...and some others...and I myself...thought that it was time." She smiled evasively and he felt the subject was now closed.

It didn't matter; there were other subjects. And as they talked, and ate, and told each other the stories of who they were and how they came to be in this place, both felt the connection of words and thoughts pulling them closer together. It was like a recognition that they had known each other before, along with the inexplicable certainty that they would know each other again. It was intriguing, almost enthralling, and a little bit frightening.

Finally they ran out of words, and sat in companionable silence while they finished the last of the tea. It had grown lukewarm in the interval but neither noticed or cared. John sighed and looked at the chronometer on the wall. The numerals were Minbari but he didn't need to read them to know it was late, and time for him to leave.

Smiling ruefully, he said, "I hate to say this, but I really have to go." He clambered to his feet and waited while Delenn rose in one swift movement. Warmly, he went on, "This has been a wonderful evening, like a moment out of time."

"It is kind of you to say so," Delenn replied, accompanying him to the door. At the threshold, she suddenly stumbled, and instinctively he caught her arms, pulling her close until she could regain her balance. The warm weight of her body against his slammed his heart up into his throat. She looked up into his eyes and he felt dizzy with the sudden desire to kiss her. The moment passed. She moved slightly away and stood, arms loose at her side, eyes wide and lips slightly parted as if she was about to speak. But she did not speak.

John didn't want to say good-bye. If this had been an evening with any another woman, it would have been appropriate to kiss her good night. But Delenn was not any woman, and he couldn't think what to do. He was finding it difficult to think, period. Finally he reached down and took her hand. Raising it slightly, he bent down and gently pressed his lips against it, watching intently for her reaction. Her cool fingers warmed and trembled in his hand, and a look of confusion and pleasure crossed her face. He slowly released her hand, reluctantly letting it fall, and turned to leave.

"Captain?" she said, her voice a little higher than normal. "I enjoyed our time together this evening. Perhaps," here she stumbled over the words, searching for the correct phrasing, "we could...do this again?"

John wanted to ask whether she meant the tea, the conversation, or the kiss, but decided it wasn't the time to push. "I'd like that," he replied, and bowed slightly as he turned to go home.

Delenn could not remember what she did after John left. Everything was tidied away, and in the morning there was no evidence that he had ever been there. But she woke with her cheek cradled on the hand that he had kissed, and it seemed to her the warmth of his lips lingered there. The rest of the day went by in a haze, and Lennier had to repeat his reports and instructions to her multiple times.

She had no meetings with Captain Sheridan that day; it was one of her service days among the station's Minbari population. Still, after a morning spent hearing petitions and complaints in her quarters, she told Lennier she needed to get out for a while. He nodded and gathered together the items they had been working on, putting them in order for their return. Delenn wandered the Zocalo, venturing into the Minbari sector to chat with the shopkeepers there. Her eyes absently scanned the crowds for a glimpse of EarthForce blue and brown but she saw nothing. Finally she and Lennier, who had accompanied her in dutiful confusion, sat down in one of the smaller restaurants. Lennier went to obtain some refreshment, and Delenn tried to pull her thoughts together.

She knew what was happening to her; it just didn't seem possible. The attraction was so strong. How did the humans deal with these raging emotions? It was not that Minbari did not have emotions of this strength. They most certainly did. But they had ways of dealing with emotion that did not seem to have counterparts in human traditions. She was beginning to realize how little she knew of human traditions. The ones that she did know were foreign, and strange, and left her uncomfortable.

"Ambassador?"

The crisp voice cut into her reverie, and she looked up to see Commander Ivanova standing above her. Delenn blinked, and quickly said, "Were you addressing me, Commander? Please sit down and tell me how I may be of service to you."

Susan hesitated, then swung into the offered chair. "Are you here on your own?" she queried politely.

"Lennier is here somewhere," Delenn looked into the depths of the crowded cafe. "He went to procure refreshment. Would you care to join us?"

"Just had lunch," replied Susan brusquely. "I'm due back in C&C soon, but I was looking for you."

"Were you?" remarked Delenn absently. A thought occurred to her. Ivanova had been helpful in prior instances, helping her to understand some of the more obscure aspects of human culture. "May I ask you something?" she said abruptly before Susan could speak again.

"Of course," replied Susan, only a hint of apprehension in her tone.

"I have heard of a human tradition...a kind of greeting or farewell, I think...where a man kisses a woman's hand." Delenn found herself hoping Lennier was stuck in line for a while longer. "What level of intimacy does such a gesture imply?" She kept her voice level, trying to present her interest as mildly clinical.

Susan's face was expressionless. "It depends," she began slowly. "It's such an old-fashioned gesture. Where did you see it? A vid or something?" Thoughtfully, she continued, "It can be a sign of respect if the man is lower in status than the woman."

Delenn's face fell slightly. She wasn't looking for an acolyte in John Sheridan. "I see," she said.

"Oh, that's not the only way of looking at it," Susan went on. "It can be a chivalrous gesture, a man showing deference to all women, a sign they are to be protected and fought for."

Slightly better, Delenn thought to herself, but she found herself wanting the Captain to see her as one particular female, not as a generalized symbol of womanhood.

"Of course it's also intensely romantic," concluded Susan. "Old-fashioned, like I said, but an indication of deep affection."

Delenn smiled, she couldn't help it. "Thank you, Commander. That is most helpful." After a moment of pleasant reverie, her good manners reasserted themselves. "I have delayed you in your errand. I believe you said you were looking for me?"

"Yes," replied Susan, curiosity tinging her voice. "I have a message for you from the Captain." She held out a piece of paper, folded twice to conceal the words written within.

Delenn took it from her hand and opened it flat on the table, smoothing it with her fingers. Hand-written, she noted with pleasure. _If you would care to continue where we left off last night-meet me in my quarters at 1900 hours. I'll bring the tea. _Her face warmed and she hoped her intense reaction didn't register. She felt ablaze with happiness.

Susan cleared her throat, "I'm supposed to take back a 'yes' or 'no' answer," she said. Glancing at her link, which had a light pulsing a bright orange color. "And I've got to leave now, I'm afraid."

"Tell the Captain my answer is 'yes'," Delenn replied. Lennier approached, bearing a tray. He bowed, keeping the tray level with effort, as Susan took her farewells and strode off, rapidly disappearing into the crowd.

"What was the Captain asking of you?" Lennier busied himself removing cups and plates from the tray, and placing them on the small round table. "If I may inquire," he added, placing the tray on the third chair.

Delenn answered slowly, "I am not quite sure." Lennier looked at her, questions behind his normal placid expression. She went on, "You make take the evening for private meditation, Lennier. I have other plans."

Delenn meticulously attended to the rest of her duties that afternoon and into the evening. She wanted no distraction later from unfinished business or neglected responsibilities. Besides, the work helped calm the...what was the human expression? It referred to the feeling there were flying insects living inside of you. Oh yes, she thought, butterflies. That was it.

After Lennier took his leave from her, she tried to settle to some meditation before her meeting with the Captain, but was unable to focus. At one point she found herself staring into a mirror set between two candle sconces. The dancing flames limned a face still her own yet so very different. Smoothing back the wayward hair that always threatened to curl out of position, she tried to remember her Minbari self. But the picture wouldn't form in her mind. What did Captain Sheridan see when he looked at her? This, she told herself, staring at her wide eyes, black irises dilated in the dim light. This is what he saw. This is all he had ever seen. But is this all she was?

The corridor was still brightly lit as she wended her way to Blue sector; the lights did not dim until after 9 pm, Earth standard time. She nodded without speaking to those she passed, at least the ones who caught her eye. This sector was reserved for station personnel, and she noticed a few less than discreet stares. Straightening her shoulders she walked swiftly towards her assignation.

The wait at the door seemed an eternity, and when it opened, no one was there. "Come in!" she heard from inside, and entered. John was seated at a high stool at the counter which separated the kitchen from the living area. Delenn noted the shiny platter piled with fruit, the cups and gently steaming kettle set out beside it. John was speaking to the monitor screen, which showed an irritated Ivanova.

"No, you can tell them they'll have to wait. That docking bay won't be repaired until tomorrow at the earliest, and the other bays are full." John's voice was firm, and a little annoyed.

"Yes sir, but the captain of the Centauri ship insists his cargo is perishable and must be off-loaded as soon as possible. It's earmarked for the ambassador himself," Susan repeated patiently.

"It'll have to wait," replied John again. "Make it work, Susan."

"Yes, sir, " replied Susan crisply, and the screen faded.

John shook his head and turned to Delenn. "It never ends, does it?" She nodded in commiseration, and he continued, "Please sit down. I made tea. It's an Earth blend." She took a seat at the counter, and took the cup he offered her.

She waited for a moment until he took the first sip. The humans had very little ritual at these times as far as she could tell, so she merely mirrored his actions. The tea was good, with a smoky, spicy taste reminiscent of wood fires and senntha perfume.

He was turning the cup around and around in his hands, in what was obviously a nervous gesture. It made her uneasy; her own hands were cold, and she closed them around the warm ceramic mug. The tight circle they made prevented her from reaching out to him in a gesture of solidarity and comfort.

"I wasn't certain you would come," he finally said.

Taking a sip, she returned the heavy black mug to the counter top with a heavy sound, a thud that echoed the pounding of her heart. Her mouth was dry although she had just finished drinking. Searching for the words to explain her compulsion to be with him, anytime, anywhere, she finally said, "I found I could not stay away."

John had set down his cup also, and now he leaned over and took both her hands in his own. "I want you to know...this isn't usual with me. I don't normally let people in this quickly. But I don't know, somehow it's different with you." He searched her face, concern in his eyes. "Am I moving too fast?"

Delenn took advantage of his question to quickly examine her own inner feelings at this moment. Earlier they had been as unclear as the Western sea when fog rolled down from the crystalline mountaintops. Here in his presence, it was as if the sun had broken through. Everything was clear, bright and certain, and everything was also completely wrong. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered at this moment except that she longed to feel his lips on her skin again.

John let go of her hands and stood up, running his hands through his hair, then letting his arms fall to his side, hands slightly clenched. "I'm so sorry. I hope I didn't mess this up. There's still so much I don't know about your people and your customs."

Delenn didn't stop to think or speak, but stood and slipped into the space between his arms, leaning lightly against his broad chest. John seemed to hesitate, then slowly his arms came up to loosely encircle her waist. He stopped, staying completely still, and she knew he was giving her the choice of what happened next. Delenn put a tentative hand up to stoke the mussed waves of his hair, smoothing them gently away from his face. Then she let her hand trace the firm contours of his chin, then move up to gently stroke the length of his lips. Warm breath pulsed across her fingertips, and a scent foreign but undeniably male, sharp and clean like a winter forest, filled her nostrils. Keeping one hand on the artery of his neck, letting his heartbeat set the pace of her own, and steadying herself with the other hand on his shoulder, she stretched up to brush his lips with her own.

It wasn't enough, not nearly enough, not for either of them. The next kiss deepened as new sensations crowded her mind, slipping in and around her defenses. She let them fall, opening herself to him. His arms tightened around her, and the sense of security that gave her brought her almost to tears. Instead she laughed, softly at first, then light and quick as her heart skipped in joy.

"What's so funny?" asked John finally, apparently unable to keep from grinning widely back at her.

"Nothing," she replied. 'Everything," she added. Then putting both arms around his neck and swaying gently in his embrace, she asked pointedly, "If it is not against your traditions..." She admired the fine arch of his eyebrow as he awaited her question. "May we do that again?"

"As many times as you like," he replied.

That was the first of many meetings over the next two weeks. Both of them agreed it wouldn't be appropriate to advertise their burgeoning relationship. Delenn was worried about the reaction of the other Minbari on the station, given the war, especially given her lover's role in that conflict. John was more concerned with the possible effect on his mission. How could Earth be seen as neutral in the swirling mess of alliances and animosities that defined Babylon 5 if its representative was involved with one of the ambassadors?

So they met in secret, as often as they could manage. The station's com system logged all calls although it didn't record the conversations, and so they found it easier to use personal messages and personal messengers. Lennier and Ivanova found themselves criss-crossing the station at the most inconvenient times.

It didn't stop the talk of course. The station was the size of a large city but was more like a small town. The currency of the place was gossip and rumor. Ivanova was well aware of the under-currents, but had decided to let things play out, at least for a while. All the knowing looks from G'Kar and leering winks from Londo made it hard to keep a straight face at times, but she was a EarthForce officer, trained in discretion and obedience, and she rose to the challenge. The only thing she couldn't stand was the constant interruption of her work. She had enough to do without adding go-between to her list of responsibilities.

Finally, one day, Susan entered the turbo-lift and encountered a stoic Lennier. The Minbari aide bowed an unspoken welcome. The lift door slid shut and Susan stirred, a folded piece of paper held loosely in one palm. Sliding a glance at Lennier's impassive face, she noticed he was holding a Minbari message cylinder in one hand. _This is ridiculous, _she thought. _Time to shake things up._

"Lennier," she said firmly. "Is that a message from Ambassador Delenn to Captain Sheridan?"

Lennier started to nod, seemed to catch himself, and replied cautiously, "It is possible." In a deliberate tone, he continued, "Why do you ask?"

Susan held out her open palm, on which the folded paper lay like an inelegantly folded origami swan. "Because this is a message from the Captain to Delenn." She closed her fist on the missive. "They are using us, Lennier. Using us to set up clandestine meetings."

Lennier's eyes blinked rapidly once, then twice. "And if they are?" he said mildly.

"Come on, Lennier!" Susan exploded. "You've seen them lately! It isn't work they're up to, and what they're doing isn't, or shouldn't be, a secret."

Lennier shook his head. "It is more complicated than the lives of two people, Commander. Whatever their personal inclinations, they both have positions to uphold, and responsibilities to fulfill."

"I know that," Susan replied through clenched teeth. Then she felt her shoulders droop. "It just seems like it shouldn't be too much to ask."

"What should not be too much to ask?" queried Lennier.

"For them to be happy. I should know better. The world isn't set up that way." Susan paused and watched waves of emotion cross Lennier's face. "Is it going to be that much of a problem?" Susan asked him, concerned by the intensity of his expression. "I know there'll be plenty of negative reaction on our side."

"It is not our way," replied Lennier carefully, "to mate outside our own kind. But then Delenn has been set apart by fate. It is possible this will be considered just one more way that she is...different."

"And how do you feel about it?" asked Susan, wondering at the tension she could feel emanating from Lennier in waves. Looking down at his hands, she saw he had gripped the little tube so tightly his fingers were even whiter than usual.

"It is not my place to feel anything," replied Lennier almost curtly. Then, with a somewhat pained smile, he added, "It is my wish for her to be happy."

Susan snapped a decisive nod. Stepping forward towards the lift controls, she stated "Emergency stop. Command control override emergency notification." As the lift jerked and slowed to a stop, she put the note into her jacket pocket and rubbed her hands together. "Let's figure out a way to get them out in the open, and get us out of the middle."

John stepped out of the lift and approached the observation dome, whistling softly to himself. The note from Delenn had been short and sweet. _Star-watching, 2200 hours_. He entered the dark room, noting the slim straight figure in front of the star-filled vista. The side chambers were closed off, opaque walls reducing the wide room to a more intimate space. He used his command code to lock the door, then he watched a moment as she stared out into the vast black background. Crossing the short, but still too far, distance that separated them, he took her in his arms and sank into the sweet feeling of coming home.

The world stilled and slowed, as it always did when they were alone together. It was quiet enough to hear her swift sharp breath in his ear. He loved the effect his touch had on her, and let his hands roam over her, enjoying the low moan that escaped as he pulled her in tight against his body. Things were just getting interesting when he heard voices, familiar voices. Decidedly unwelcome voices.

Pulling back, he turned towards the sound, keeping one arm around Delenn as lights flared on above them. Now he could see into one of the screened-off sections of the large room. And they could see into this one. On the far right, a thin almost invisible scrim was slowly retreating into the wall. Beyond the retreating barrier, several ambassadors were milling about a central table covered with a snowy tablecloth and a large silver bowl, which was surrounded by tall stemmed glasses. Three waiters circulated among the chatting dignitaries, purveying drinks and savory appetizers. From a vantage point near the view port, the Centauri ambassador lifted a glass to John and Delenn, now clearly visible to the small group, and said "Ah! There you two are! The party has already begun! I thought you were going to miss the whole thing."

John pasted on a professional smile. It stayed on his lips, never reaching his eyes, which had darkened to a flinty grey. "Ambassador," he said, just managing to keep the lid on his rising temper. Delenn started to drift away from him, and in that instant he made a decision. They were doing nothing wrong, and it was time to end this secrecy-time to shame the devil. He pulled Delenn close against his side and looked down at her. He smiled as she lifted her chin, and nodded at him in understanding and acceptance.

"Ambassador Mollari," Delenn addressed the Centauri, all diplomatic charm and warmth, standing secure within the circle of John's arm. "You have us at a disadvantage." Bowing her head slightly towards each of her fellow ambassadors, she went on. "What is the occasion?"

"I was told that this was the second anniversary of the opening of this station. I was not here exactly as it came on line, arriving shortly after. When Commander Ivanova suggested a small gathering to mark the date, well..." Londo's voice lingered on the word in a most suggestive manner. "The Commander can be most persuasive." He drained his glass and deftly set it down and snagged another from a passing tray. "And what have you two been up to?" he asked with a knowing glance.

"Star-watching," replied John firmly. "Ivanova thought this up, eh?" he said, adding grimly, "I'll have to commend her on her initiative." A talk with the Commander was definitely in order. But first he meant to take advantage of the opportunity that had presented itself. He began to circulate through the crowd, Delenn on his arm, making sure each and every one of the guests got an eyeful of two of them together. It was a relief to be honest about the situation, but it was almost a shame to lose the spark of danger that had been engendered by their clandestine meetings.

He pulled a drink off a circulating tray, offering it first to Delenn, then when she shook her head, sipping at it himself. Delenn was recounting some of the most interesting stories of living on a newly operational space station to the Abbai ambassador. As she did, she twined her fingers through his. His heart lurched in his chest. He wasn't losing anything. Around Delenn, the sparks would always fly.

_**Epilogue**_

Susan Ivanova stood stiff and straight-backed in the corridor outside Captain Sheridan's office. When she had gotten the curt summons, she knew instantly what it was about. And now her superior officer was making her wait in a deliberate attempt to put her on edge. She approved.

"Commander."

The voice came from close behind her and she whirled around to see Lennier. He bowed to her, and then walked closer to stand beside her, his hands crossed in front of him.

"Are you here to see the Captain?" she finally asked, after several moments of silence.

"I am here to confess," replied Lennier.

"Confess." Susan raised an eyebrow and examined the slight Minbari beside her. "Confess to what?"

"To our subterfuge to reveal the Captain and Delenn's relationship to the other ambassadors," replied Lennier calmly.

"You just went along with my crazy idea," protested Susan.

"I agreed to the plan," replied Lennier. "I am as culpable as you are."

Susan let out a puff of exasperation. "You don't have to do this. The Captain has no authority over you; you might have to answer to Delenn of course..." She paused and scrutinized the Minbari's face. "You already have, haven't you?"

"Delenn had some thoughts on the matter," Lennier answered. "And she shared them with me."

Susan whistled slightly under her breath. "I'll bet she did." Glancing at the stubbornly closed door, she sighed heavily. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Lennier smiled at her. "It was a good idea. I may have just followed your lead, but that was because you saw something that needed to be done, and did it."

"Maybe you need to follow someone else," Susan replied tartly.

"I already do," answered Lennier, "And you have shown me that she is set upon a new path. This has given me much to think about." Lennier leaned his head bone back against the wall. "I wanted to thank you for that also."

Susan nodded. It was somehow comforting. Whatever the Captain and Delenn thought about what she'd done, it seemed to have helped Lennier in some way. After this little adventure, he was almost a friend. "The Captain won't like your being here. And really, this is my problem." Susan jerked her head towards the turbo-lift. "I appreciate the support, but you should go."

Lennier considered her expression carefully for a moment, then stated, "I would stay until you are called, but it shall be as you wish." He bowed formally to her, and put his hands together to shape a triangle. "You have acted in accordance with a higher good in this matter. I am certain the Captain will come to appreciate that. In time."

Susan watched him walk away. Behind her, the door to Captain Sheridan's office snicked open.

"Come in, Commander," a stern voice growled from inside the room.

A higher good, Lennier had said. Insubordination, subversion of military discipline, acting against the best interests of the station; she'd be lucky if Sheridan didn't space her. It was a serious situation but still she had to fight to keep a straight face. It had been like a play, with the lights blazing forth to reveal the Captain and Delenn in a serious clinch before God and everyone.

"Captain," she acknowledged, entering the office. The door closed slowly behind her.


	7. Permission Slip

**Permission Slip**

"John? May I speak with you?"

John Sheridan was seated behind his desk, stranded behind piles of files. He couldn't see the speaker, but of course he recognized her voice. He heard an uncertain tone in it, almost a pleading note. John rose and walked around the desk to where Delenn stood in the doorway. Placing his hands on her shoulders and dipping his head to look into her downcast eyes, he asked, "Are you all right?" He noted that one hand was twisted in the fabric of her dress, and the other rubbed the back of her neck, both characteristic betrayals of nervous tension.

"I am fine," she answered at last, slowly peering up at him through thick lashes.  
John resisted the urge to kiss her. "You are not fine. You look fine, and you certainly smell fine." He brushed her hair with his lips, taking a moment to drink in the scent of her perfume. Whispering into her ear, he said huskily, "You probably taste fine, too. Care to come back to my quarters and let me put it to the test?"

Delenn shook her head, but John could just see a slight smile form behind the fall of her hair. "Come on," he urged. "You can tell me. What's up?"

She hesitated, and he began to feel a thread of anxiety tug at him. "Now you're starting to worry me," he said. Pulling her over towards a low couch he settled her into an empty space, lodged a small bolster cushion behind her back and sat beside her, all the while keeping one of her hands enclosed in his. "What is it?"

Delenn sighed softly, then straightened her back and lifted her chin. "It is time," she said.

"Time for what?" John demanded. Then, with mounting dread, he asked, "It's not another ritual, is it?.

She looked surprised, as if struck by the idea. "Not as such. Not exactly. It is just that someone wishes to make your acquaintance."

John took a moment to mentally catalog recent ship arrivals from Minbar. There hadn't been one in over a week. "Who is it?" he finally asked, falling back on the direct approach.

She began hesitantly, "An old friend. Of my father's and of my own. He was my tutor, and is an elder of my clan."

"OK," replied John, puzzled. "Sounds great. Where's he been hiding out? Down in the Minbari sector?" He shook his head. "If he's a friend of yours we can find him quarters in the VIP area. More room and easier for you to visit back and forth."

Delenn smiled at this. "I do not get to see him often these days. He is quite, let us say, 'wrapped up' in his position."

Now she was teasing him, which was okay, he liked that. "I'll bite. What does he do around here?" Her lips pursed together, eminently kissable, and he decided he could wait for his answer.

After a pleasant but brief interlude, she pulled away, laughing and said, "John, I will never finish this request if you do not let me speak!"

John smiled back. "Time well spent." Looking over her shoulder at the stack of work on his desk, he said, "But you're right. Now who are we talking about, where do we meet up with him, and why now?"

Delenn leaned back into his encircling arm. "His name is Draal, he is the keeper of the Great Machine on Epsilon 3, and he wishes to know your intentions." Removing his free hand from its exploration of her mid-section, she added in coda, "Towards me."

John's mind stuttered as it went through recent and past indications of his precise intentions, including this morning's excursions in distraction. "Fine," he finally said with an inward slight shrug. He didn't have anything to hide. They were both adults and free agents. Well, he was anyway, giving his usual mental caress to the memory of his lost wife. Anna would have wanted him to be happy, he knew that. Tightening his grip on the source of his new happiness, he said, "This is good. I've been meaning to get down to the planet. Jeff Sinclair's reports were a little vague in places but it was clear he was impressed, both with the Machine, and with its Keeper." He looked sideways at Delenn, who seemed more relaxed now she had verbalized her concerns. Her hand had come to rest on his knee, and its warmth soaked through the cloth into his skin. "As for my intentions..." he asked. "Are we in trouble here? I know we've been following the general outline of your culture's traditions but I get the feeling we've skipped ahead a bit."

Her lips curved upward. "We have, a bit. We have foregone many of the normal rituals and modified or shortened others. This was condoned due to our particular circumstances and to our relative status in our respective governments. But now we have come to a point where our relationship requires recognition from my clan. Draal has volunteered to stand in for Callenn, the designated elder. Callenn does not enjoy travel outside Minbar. He is old-fashioned that way." Her face settled into ironic lines. "My people leave exploration to the Warrior caste. My interest in alien cultures is considered eccentric, but my willingness to be 'hands-on' in my research is looked on as downright perverse."

John looked down at her small hand, currently fingertip-walking from its original resting place on his knee directly northward. He cleared his throat. "All right. Is there anything I need to know before I meet Draal?"

Delenn's smile twisted enigmatically. "Just be yourself, John. I am certain that will be sufficiently..." Her voice lowered to a throaty purr. "Impressive."

Her hand reached its goal and John suppressed a moan as he reached for her, scattering cushions and papers aside as he used the last of his independent thought to call out "Door, secure lock, open on my command."

"As you wish," replied Delenn.

John made it back to his own quarters late that night. It had taken more than a little time to finish all the work he'd neglected that morning. He took a quick shower, and was toweling his hair dry on his way to the kitchen when a crackle in the air put him on instant alert. Moving quickly to the chest where he kept his spare sidearm, he was stopped in his tracks before he could reach it by a loud guttural laugh.

A large Minbari in informal robes belonging to the Religious caste stood in his living room, surrounded by a golden glow which was the source of the sizzling noise. John thought it must be some kind of force field and circled it cautiously, still edging his way towards his potentially useless weapon.

"Captain Sheridan, I apologize for this unorthodox intrusion." The older man's eyes sparkled, warm within the web of lines that etched his broad face. "I am Draal," the Minbari continued in explanation, as John continued to look at him warily.

"Draal!" exclaimed John. "Delenn's Draal?" He ran his hand through his damp hair, having dropped the towel in his haste to reach his PPG. Gesturing toward the open door leading to the bedroom, where his clothes lay neatly on the bed, he attempted to remark casually, "If you'll excuse me?"

Draal looked down at the second towel loosely circling John's hips. "Oh," he said abruptly. "Of course." As John hastily got dressed behind the translucent glass, Draal rambled on. "I thought a more informal meeting might be in order. Besides," his deep voice rumbled, "I was anxious to meet you." As he talked he walked about the room, examining the art on the walls and the bric-a-brac and photos on the shelves.

John emerged, having opted for his uniform shirt and pants. He'd foregone the jacket although he'd hesitated at first, uncertain what impression he wanted to make. Draal had indicated this was to be a casual visit both with his words and his entrance, so that's how he would play it too. Walking to the kitchen he pulled down a cup and flipped a switch to heat water. "Can I get you something?" he asked automatically, forgetting the unique circumstances of his guest.

Draal smiled. "I wish I could accept your hospitality, but this holographic form is, of course, incapable of ingesting anything." He made an expansive gesture, "But please...go ahead."

"Thanks," replied John, amused at the bite of irony. Who was asking whose permission here? He made his tea and joined Draal in the living room. "Have a seat," he said, indicating a chair as he sat down on one end of the couch. Draal puffed out his robes and even though he was completely insubstantial, he still seemed to settle deeply and comfortably into the wide armchair.

They stared at each other in a slightly awkward but strangely companionable silence for a few moments, then John spoke. "So how does this go?"

Draal's face grew serious. "There is a prescribed set of questions and ritual answers. Quite a lengthy list, actually. Traditionally there are witnesses to each stage of the questioning. There are prayers. If there are challenges, then there are traditional responses..." At John's suppressed sigh, Draal's face broke out in a broad smile. "But I have my own methods," he said.

"You do," said John, wishing one more time that he hadn't given up drinking. "Care to enlighten me as to what these methods might be?"

Draal laced his fingers together and settled them across his stomach. "In all seriousness, Captain Sheridan, I have studied your record and the history of your world. There is really only one thing I want to know." He leaned slightly forward and asked intently, "Tell me, do you like Delenn?"

"I love her," John answered without hesitation, adding with emphasis, "I'd trust her with my life."

"I believe you," replied Draal. "But do you like her?"

John looked nonplussed. "Of course I do! What are you getting at?"

"Delenn plays many roles in this life; she is a leader and a follower, a priestess and an acolyte, a politician and a diplomat. She is a bridge between the future and the past of our people." Draal intoned this litany solemnly, but then his face softened. "She will always be, to me at least, a charming child, highly intelligent and fiercely loyal. A little lost at times, often wise beyond her years. Vulnerable at her heart." He cocked his head to one side, examining John closely. "What do you like about her?"

John sat quiet for a moment, considering the question seriously. "I like her honesty. She _listens_, like no one I've ever met before, and respects your opinion even when she disagrees with it." He looked down at his hands, loosely clasped, forearms resting on his knees as he leaned forward. "Her faith, in other people and in the Universe, is extraordinary. Her light shines through – even when everything is dark. She makes me laugh." Opening his hands, palms upwards, he concluded, "I don't know what else to say."

Draal laughed, a great big belly laugh that would have shaken the room if he'd actually been there in the flesh. "You'll do, Captain."

John stared for a moment, then started to laugh too. "Is that it?" he asked, grinning widely. "I got the impression from Delenn that this was a big deal."

Sobering slightly, Draal replied, "Minbari do nothing without the approval of their clan, of the elders. Delenn has pushed the boundaries of our traditions for a long time. It is fortunate that Callenn was persuaded to leave this ritual to me."

John shifted position uneasily. "Are you saying that if you, or Callenn, said no to our relationship, she would give it up?"

"I do not know," said Draal gently. "But it would have been difficult for her to continue. She is Minbari still, and our traditions are an integral part of us."

The Minbari's eyes were fixed on John, as if he was waiting for some further reaction. John shook his head. "I think she would have found a way. But even if she didn't, I'd love her just the same."

"Groovy!" exclaimed Draal.

John stared. "Excuse me?" he said.

"It's a human phrase," said Draal in an injured tone, "I'm quite certain it's correct. I've been studying your history, particularly that of your home region. I've just reached the 21st century. The Great Machine is very conducive to research, very immersive." He leaned forward and asked intently, "Can you tell me about the two tribes that warred just before this period? It was a long drawn-out conflict covering much of your planet. What were they called? The Bears and the Eagles?"

John's mind slipped a gear, or maybe several, but he tried valiantly to recover fleeting memories of the old Earth history classes required at the academy. "The Cold War, right? They weren't exactly tribes..."

"It seemed very much like two dominant castes leaning on unallied clans, forcing them to engage in a proxy war." Draal said. "We saw similar strategies in our own past, long ago, in the years before Valen." He smiled eagerly. "Military history is not a subject normally covered in temple, but I did a course of individualized instruction with Durhan himself. The strategy of warfare is very reminiscent of political maneuvering. Only with more explosions." His face settled into a studied blank expression as he continued, "I wonder if you would mind describing your actions as regards the Drala'fi."

John sat in silence for one long moment. The question was both unexpected and unsurprising. "No regrets. It was an act of war, and the tactic was acceptable by human standards. "

Draal was motionless for some time. "The message you sent was a lie."

"It was not a lie," returned John evenly. "The Lexington was dead in the sky. If the Black Star hadn't come forward to deliver the death blow to a stranded and disarmed ship it would not have been destroyed." John's mouth set in a grim line.

Draal dropped his head in acquiescence. "I suppose that is true. Our Warrior caste, however, does not see it that way."

"Your Warrior caste was committing genocide," replied John, now struggling to remain calm. "I never understood why. None of us did." He regained control with an effort. "I know it wasn't all of you. There was at least one attempt at brokering peace." Clasping his hands together, he looked down at the floor. "All soldiers understand that things happen in war. Things that would never happen in other circumstances. This," he paused, and continued voice thick with emotion, "this was difficult to understand. It began with a misunderstanding and ended in a mystery."

Draal sighed and regarded John solemnly. "The war will always lie between the two of you, whether understood or not. It can be a bridge or a divide. What is certain is that an alliance between Delenn and Starkiller will remain an issue with some of our people."

John nodded. "I know. It's just...well, we don't talk about it. I don't _want_to talk about it...and I don't get the idea that Delenn does either."

"You are undoubtedly correct. Personally I consider it none of my affair, as of now. If Callenn has further questions regarding this matter he can refer them to me." Draal stood abruptly and shook out the virtual creases in his glowing robes. "I suppose we will still have to perform the ritual tomorrow."

John's lips formed the question, "Really?" but he straightened and nodded in assent. "Delenn expects it."

Draal leaned down towards John and confided. "She can be a bit, well, rigid, can't she?" As he began to fade around the edges, he added, "There's more to this ritual than words. I'll think of something."

The following day John and Delenn took a two person shuttle down to Epsilon Three. Delenn led the way through tunnels and corridors of old stone to the cavern at the heart of the planet. John kept lagging behind his guide, fascinated by the machinery revealed by every twist and turn of the path. Delenn had gone ahead, but paused when they reached the causeway. She hung over the railing looking into the depths of the ancient Machine that housed her old friend. John observed her surreptitiously, noting the evidence of lack of sleep, the tension in the hands that gripped the rail.

"You all right?" he asked, joining her. The blue light from the pulsing machine lit her face, heightening her pallor. "It'll be okay today. I'm sure of it."

"Draal is certainly a more sympathetic judge than others. But he will fulfill his responsibility to my clan honestly, and with honor." Her voice was apprehensive, and a little sad.

John took her hand, detaching it from the rail and enclosing it in his. "Come on, let's get this over with." He pulled her gently towards the figure hanging in the cradle at the end of the causeway. As they reached the platform the older Minbari began disentangling himself from various wires and tubes. He stepped down from the Machine, stumbling slightly as his feet reached the floor. John made a move towards the older man to help, but stopped when the Minbari waved him away. Straightening his robes, Draal stood carefully upright and then opened his arms wide. Delenn let go of John's hand and walked into her old tutor's embrace.

"It is always worth leaving the Machine to greet you, Delenn. I hope you are well?" Draal held her at arm's length, examining her closely. Then he turned accusingly to John, "She does not look well."

John returned his gaze steadily. "She's fine."

Draal shook his head. "She is unhappy." He glared at John over Delenn's head.

"She's worried," John glared back. He didn't know where this was going. Last night it had seemed settled; a few questions, some hand-waving and recitations, another obstacle overcome. They would be done, at least for now. What was going on?

Draal dropped his arms, releasing Delenn. "Then we should alleviate any fears she might have."

John nodded cautiously, "Okay. Let's do that."

Delenn looked from one to the other in consternation. "You two are acting very strangely." Putting one hand on Draal's arm, she asked, "When will you begin your questions, Draal?

"All done, my dear." Draal patted her hand. "I'm already finished."

"What do you mean?" Delenn asked forcefully. "This cannot be all there is!" Her eyes widened. "You must do this properly, Draal. Our union," she blushed fiercely, "any potential union between John and myself would not be recognized by my clan without the proper rituals."

Draal looked stubbornly back at her. "I would not do anything to jeopardize your happiness. You must trust me to know what is right." He pulled a tightly rolled scroll of creamy paper out of an inner pocket of his robe. "My decision is here. Please refrain from reading it until you can do it together, in private." He regarded them both, tight-lipped and stern. "This is my final word on the subject."

"Draal!" remonstrated John. Delenn had turned away, clutching the scroll. John could feel both anger and uncertainty emanating from her. Attempting to reassure her, he said, "It's all right, honey. Draal asked his questions last night." Turning back to the older Minbari, who has ascended to his position in the Great Machine's interface and was re-integrating himself into the cradle, John asked, temper rising, "Isn't that right, Draal?"

"Good-bye, Captain. I hope to see you again. Delenn, do not wait so long between visits." The Minbari's eyes closed, and he stiffened back against the burnished metal, then relaxed into the embrace of the Machine.

Delenn did not speak during the walk back to the shuttle. As they left the stone caverns and regained clear communication to the station, John's link sounded with an urgent beep that repeated at regular intervals. Excusing himself, he answered the call with curt, clipped responses, swallowing back the temptation to curse all station emergencies. As they fastened themselves into their seats, he took one more call. "That's torn it," he said. "I have to go straight to C&C when we get back. Don't know how long I'll be." He gestured towards the scroll she had carefully placed in the console between their seats. "You want to open that now?"

She shook her head. "Not now." She didn't say anything more during the short trip back. When they reached the entrance to the station, she bowed slightly in his direction, and murmured, "I will see you this evening?"

He quickly answered, "I'll be over as soon as I can get away. Then we'll hash this out." Then he watched her walk away, body stiff and head held tall. Sighing deeply, he hurried off toward C&C and the latest emergency.

It was several hours later when John reached Delenn's quarters. He hesitated outside the door, wondering how the evening would end, and whether they would still be together afterwards. He swallowed a sudden lump in his throat as he thought of losing her, but remembering what he had told Draal the previous evening, he pulled back his shoulders into parade position and hit the door chime. Whatever happened, he loved her, and he had to hold on to that.

The door swooshed open, and he strode in, radiating confidence. "Hey," he said, "How was your day, the rest of it, I mean? Are you ready to look at Draal's verdict?"

Delenn sat on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her. The scroll laid in solitary splendor on the low coffee table in front of the couch. John couldn't help but notice with interest that Delenn was dressed for bed, wearing a white sheath underneath a thin blue robe that clung to her every curve. Sitting down next to her on the couch, he placed his hands on his knees and stared at the scroll, then over at Delenn. She looked pale but composed. Gently, as reiterated his question. "Are you ready?

Delenn smiled briefly over at him, then considered the thick irregularly-edged parchment, held in a tight circle by black and red circles of silk, with trailing edges that pooled on the glass of the table. "I have decided not to open it," she said simply.

"I don't understand," John said, surprised, and trying to think out all the possible ramifications of her decision. "I thought this was a big deal; something you wanted to do...hell, that you had to do. Are you afraid he's come down against us?"

"It is not a matter of 'for' or 'against', but what is best for me, for my clan, and for our people," replied Delenn. She crossed her hands at the knee, and sat up very straight. "When I made the decision to go into the chrysalis, it was not approved of by all factions of my government. Our relationship is not approved of either...not by all Minbari or by all humans. Still my transformation was right, and this is right, for me." She looked up at him, a slight hesitation in her voice, and said, "And you, John? Is it right for you?"

He froze for a moment, struck by the almost ritual solemnity of her words. Why didn't they have emotional translators as well as linguistic ones? They'd come in handy intra-species as well as inter-species. "Yes," he finally answered after clearing his throat which had inexplicably tightened. "It's more than right."

She remained silent, though the color had returned to her cheeks. Tension still radiated from her although it was lessening by the minute. John added gently, "I would never ask you to go against your traditions, Delenn."

"I know," she replied, a touch of her usual serenity reasserting itself. "That is why I can."

They sat together, close, barely touching but aware of each other as the planet-bound are of the passage of the sun through the sky. John took her hand and let it lay in his palm like a leaf returned to the earth from which it came. He wondered at the efficacy of Minbari ritual; how it laid you open like a knife, cutting through layers of public posturing to pierce through to the soul.

"I told Draal I'd love you just the same," he said, half to himself.

"The same as whom?" replied Delenn. She'd relaxed enough to curl up against his side and he had turned to present a broader surface on which she could rest her head.

"Not the same as someone else, the same whatever he said or whatever you decided to do," he explained, cursing the sometime incoherence of the English language, at least as he practiced it. He was momentarily distracted by relief that this particular ritual or trial or whatever it was, hadn't required any answers from him in Adronato. So far he'd managed by memorizing his responses phonetically, but he was dismally aware that this wasn't going to cut it later on.

A bit of tension had returned to her slight body, and John cradled her against his chest, his right arm encircling her shoulders, her hand enclosed in his. There was something more bothering her.

"There are things you do not know about me," she began slowly, speaking into his chest. "Things that might change your mind about me."

John remembered Draal's words about the war, and forestalled any incipient confession. "The past should stay in the past, Delenn. An old friend told me that once." He brushed his cheek over the smooth warmth of the crest buried in her hair. "She said that the past should inform the present, but not intrude on it."

"An old friend?" answered Delenn, a spark of curiosity enlivening her voice.

John shifted uneasily and gave a short laugh. "So much for the past staying there." He let go her hand and ran his through his hair, leaving it ruffled. This was not like the war. It was personal and she needed to know. He took a deep breath and continued. "Her name was Elizabeth. I was um, married to her once upon a time. Before Anna." He added, memory reflected in shadow, "It was a very long time ago."

Delenn paled, then flushed. She started to speak, stopped, then sat upright and took John's head between her small strong hands. She stroked her thumbs along his cheeks, slightly rough with the day's accumulation of stubble. "She sounds a very wise woman, this Elizabeth of yours." A tremble of uncertainty shook her voice.

"She was never mine, that's not how it works," replied John. "She was her own woman, just like Anna. But there was never an 'us' with Elizabeth. It just never happened. We fought each other more than we fought for each other. Do you know what I mean?"

"I think so," said Delenn, a smile shooting through her solemn expression like the sun's rays parting a grey bank of clouds. "I would fight for you, you know that."

"No one I'd rather have in my corner," replied John, touched both by her acceptance and her sudden ferocity.

She snuggled back under his arm, and warmth flooded through him. They were going to make it, through all the obstacles and over all the hurdles and past all the rituals. Thinking of rituals brought his attention back to the unopened scroll, which he eyed with growing curiosity.

"You cannot leave it alone, can you?" Delenn picked up the scroll and watched his eyes follow it. Laughter bubbled out of her. "Open it then. Just remember, I no longer acknowledge its authority."

"I just want to know," mumbled John as he ripped off the silken ties. "I don't understand what Draal is up to; everything seemed all right last night." Laying the cream-colored missive on the table, he pinned it flat with a candle holder and a glass prism at two opposite corners. Staring down at the stylized blue image on the paper, he raised one eyebrow high, and then looked at Delenn. Her expression was even more confused than his own. John picked it up, narrowly escaping upsetting the prism and turned it around and around, looking at it from all angles.

Delenn said doubtfully, "Is it a hand? Perhaps a fist?"

"Ye-e-s," drawled John uncertainly. "Maybe." He made his hand into a fist, leaving the thumb outside the fingers and held straight, turning it up and down. Leaving it up, he said, "I think this is an old symbol to do with hitchhikers. Stephen showed me once; he did a bit of travel that way when he was younger. Very old school of course, nowadays they use sub-stream receivers. You turn it on, walk through the ports and the ships that are taking on last minute passengers with alternate payment methods ping the receiver. Then you can pick the one that's going your general direction..."

Delenn held up one hand. "This is fascinating, but I do not think Draal wants us to run off together on the next outgoing ship." Her eyes sparkled, "Although the idea is more appealing that I would have expected."

John grinned at her and said, "I'll remember you said that next time things get crazy around here. Of course it could be a thumbs-up sign; that's good, that would mean approval."

Delenn took the paper from his hand and turned it around. "And is there a sign where the thumb points down?"

John grabbed it back from her. "No. Not a possibility. Don't even think it. And you don't care anyway."

"That is true," replied Delenn. She dropped the paper to the table. Rising from the couch, she stood looking down at John. She slipped the deep blue robe off her shoulders and let it fall around her feet. Standing erect in her white shift, John thought she almost glowed with love and happiness. Holding out her hands, she took his and waited until he rose to his feet.

John let her settle into his arms, and looked over her head at the paper as it rolled back into a loose coil. Running one finger under the thin strap that held on her nightclothes, he edged it over her shoulder, calculating in the back of his mind exactly how long it would take him to shed his uniform. "I'm pretty sure Draal likes our relationship just fine. In any case," and he nodded at the message from the older Minbari as he stepped back a half step, shedding his jacket and rapidly starting on the buttons of his shirt, "I think we can take that message as a permission slip."


	8. Comfort Food

**Comfort Food**

_Season of No Shadows AU_

It was late, if that concept had any meaning on a space station. Stephen Franklin had decided to take one of his rare days off and get himself lost – lost to his staff, lost in a drink, and lost in DownBelow.

The Vindrizi were gone, taking their new volunteers with them. Their new hosts, those previous denizens of the station's underworld, were off to explore the galaxy and record the history of other worlds and other races. Surrendering your individuality to a parasite, even one with seemingly benign purpose, made Stephen shudder. Though there was also something seductive in the concept, in the sense of purpose the volunteers evinced.

Marcus had been grief-stricken by the loss of his friend Duncan. Stephen had never seen the devil-may-care Ranger so subdued. That observation only added to his current depression. There seemed to be dark currents underlying nearly every aspect of station life. Stephen Franklin was beginning to wonder if there would ever be anything here but darkness and depression. His own life had been distilled down to work and strife; no light, no life outside of those he managed to save.

"Night on the town?"

The question came from close behind his left ear. He whirled around but saw no one close enough to have spoken the words. Turning back to his drink, he almost jumped out of his skin when he saw Marcus sitting across from him. The dark whip-thin man had turned the chair round and was draped over the back, smiling at Stephen.

"And a well-deserved break, I imagine," continued Marcus.

"How do you **do** that?" expostulated Stephen. "Do they have creeping around training in Ranger school?"

"Creeping around? That's first class surveillance work, getting close enough to the subject to speak to him without being seen!" Marcus looked affronted.

Stephen shook his head, and didn't bother to suppress the half-smile that crossed his lips. Gesturing to Marcus with his glass, he asked, "Care for a drink?"

Marcus started to shake his head no, but then stopped and tilted it to one side. "You know, I think I would. It's been a long time. You get out of the habit on Minbar, and of course it's never a good idea when you're working." He waved a hand at a passing waiter, who merely grunted and walked away. "Unless, of course, it's part of the job." Rising swiftly to his feet he paused on his way to the bar to inquire, "Another one for you?"

Stephen drained his glass and handed it to Marcus. "By all means."

When Marcus returned, Stephen looked at him suspiciously. "You're not on the job now, are you?"

"No indeed," Marcus laughed bitterly as he put the glass down in front of his friend. "I think I've done enough for the powers of good lately, don't you?"

"Duncan made his own decision, Marcus. And it wasn't necessarily a bad one. Everyone wants more from life. Most want more life in general." Stephen picked up the glass, looking moodily into the amber depths of the bourbon he'd been favoring that evening. Marcus had lined up three shots of something clear, tequila probably, considering the plate he set next to the small glasses, which contained lime wedges encircling a pile of salt. The citrus farms must have been over-productive if this place had managed to score some of the fruit. Stephen watched in amusement as Marcus slowly went through the ritual three times; salt, shot, lime. _Three is sacred_, he thought to himself, wondering if the Minbari tradition of doing things in threes had influenced his friend's choice of libation.

"Feel better?" Stephen said as he sipped at his second drink of the evening. He was trying to space them out. It had been a long time since he'd hit the town, and the alcohol was already going to his head.

"Much," replied Marcus concisely. He smiled again, and leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, chin in his hands. "I know why I'm here; I've lost a friend. Why are you here?"

"I'm trying to find something," said Stephen. Then he looked at Marcus in astonishment. "I don't know why I said that."

"Because it's true?" suggested Marcus. "Do you know what you're looking for?"

"Myself," replied Stephen, taking a huge swallow that nearly emptied the glass. He held it up and stared at Marcus through the thick faceted walls. "Doctor is more than my title. It's who I am. Sometimes it seems like it's all that I am." He set down his glass and looked at his hands, turning them over and over. "Doctors hold life in their hands. We're like little gods to people. They_ want_ us to be gods. But we're people, just like them."

"Of course you are," said Marcus. "'If you prick us, do we not bleed?' and all that." He cocked an eyebrow and asked, "Are you ready for another round?'

Stephen shook his head. "Need something to eat first. Haven't had a thing since this morning, and the bourbon'll go straight to my head without some food."

Marcus stared at the meager offerings listed on the board behind the bar, and took several swift glances at the other tables. There was a variety of pub food from the four food groups: salty, crunchy, greasy, and burnt. He asked delicately, "What did you have in mind?"

Stephen laughed. "I don't know. There's a halfway decent burger joint down the next level." Then a thought slid through the haze of depression and alcohol that had lifted briefly with Marcus' arrival. "Hey, why don't we go back to my quarters? I've got something there you have to try." Marcus tilted his head to one side in question, and Stephen swiftly added, "Something to eat, I mean. Something I made."

"Sounds good," replied Marcus with some caution tempering his enthusiasm. "I, uh, didn't know you could cook."

Stephen drained the last drops of his drink and stood up decisively. "Come on," he commanded.

Marcus rose in one motion and answered mildly, "Yes, Doctor."

They headed fairly directly to Stephen's quarters, with only a couple of detours to pick up two bottles of wine and a crusty loaf of bread. There was a halfway decent bakery in the Zocalo and they got there just before closing. The older woman behind the counter had smiled warmly at the two of them as she slid their purchase into a long paper cylinder. "So many things on this station are not what they seem, but our bread, it is authentic, an old family recipe. We import the flour and salt from Earth, but we use yeast grown in the vats here on the station. The ovens are small high efficiency units, nothing like the brick beehives we used back in old New York." Stephen held out a credit chit, but she waved it away. "This is the last baking for the day. No more customers, and tomorrow this would be day old. You two might as well enjoy it." As they left the shop she called after them, "Enjoy the rest of your evening!"

Marcus was carrying one bottle under each arm while following Stephen closely. As they walked, he maneuvered one bottle into his hand and flipped up the lid. He clucked his tongue at the deceptive closure—meant to look like an old-fashioned cork but opening with the flick of one finger. He remarked with derision, "I hate things meant to look like other things."

Stephen looked back at him, "What are you talking about?"

"Things that aren't what they seem. Like chocolate rabbits." Marcus had a deadly serious look on his face. "I mean, really, who first thought of that? It's grotesque." Then he remarked semi-brightly, "Do you eat the ears first? I always do."

Stephen snorted at this, and held out one hand for the bottle.

They continued on, passing the bottle back and forth for the occasional sip of the red liquid. When they reached the doctor's quarters, Stephen shoved the loaf at Marcus who momentarily bobbled the open bottle but managed to right it without losing any wine. Once inside, Stephen retrieved the still slightly warm loaf and laid it on the kitchen counter, and then relieved Marcus of the bottles. Pulling down two wineglasses from a cabinet above the cooker, he filled them from the open bottle and handed one glass to Marcus.

Stephen then reached into the cooler and pulled out a covered glass bowl. Setting it in the micro-oven in the middle of the counter, he punched a few buttons and stood back smiling in satisfaction. He took out a set of carved wooden platters and began to pull the bread apart into bite-size chunks, loading the platters with the crusty bits. Stephen picked up one platter, Marcus the other, and they both set them on the small table in the corner of the kitchen. A savory buttery smell filled the air, and Stephen hastened back to the kitchen to bring forth a bowl filled with a golden liquid wrapped in a checked towel. Placing it in the center of the table, he draped the towel over the back of a third chair, and sat down. He gestured at Marcus, saying, "Sit down! It needs to cool a little...then you dip the bread in it and...voila. Best thing ever."

Marcus stared at the bowl, then looked at Stephen quizzically. "And where did you learn of this marvelous concoction?" he asked.

"Garibaldi," replied Stephen as he reached a spoon into the oil and stirred it around. "And he'd kill me if he knew I was re-heating this. It's meant to be eaten fresh. Bagna cauda is practically a religion with him. It's all tied up with his father and his past...cooking means a lot to Michael."

Marcus nodded. "Garibaldi is a man in search of something to believe in, that much is certain." His voice grew reflective. "And he is not alone in that."

Stephen gave the mixture another stir, and picked up a piece of bread and dipped it in, letting the excess drip back into the bowl. Then he held it out to Marcus. "Go ahead. Try it," he urged.

Marcus leaned forward and took the bite from Stephen's hand. His eyebrows shot up as he chewed and swallowed. "That is marvelous. I've never tasted anything like it." He scooped up another piece of bread and let it soak up the garlicky oil and butter then stuffed it into his mouth. Stephen was going ahead with his own meal, stopping only to top off their wine glasses. After 15 minutes or so of non-stop eating, Marcus pushed back his chair. "Butter and olive oil and garlic. Who would have thought they would go together to make something like that?"

"And anchovies. That's the secret ingredient," said Stephen, sighing happily.

"Surely not," blurted out Marcus, making a face. "I hate anchovies!"

Stephen laughed, "Not any more. It's good to try something new, don't you think? Leave your comfort zone for once."

Marcus took another gulp of wine. "Yes. Of course. Quite right."

A silence fell over the two men. Stephen looked at his friend sideways. There was something different between them tonight; something personal and private and dangerous. As Stephen tried to pin down the feeling, Marcus pulled out a short grey cylinder and started tapping it on the table, first one end and then the other. Stephen watched him for a moment, then reached over and put his hand on the other man's, stopping the rhythmic motion. He'd noticed this nervous tic before. Obviously Marcus felt the tension in the air as well.

"That's a Ranger weapon, isn't it?" he asked. Marcus nodded and handed the denn'bok to him. Stephen examined it closely. "How does it work?"

"There are two methods, well three actually. You can shake it, or there are two buttons near one end. Allows for some options..." Taking back the weapon, he pressed both buttons in quick succession. The metal shot out one end of the pike, then the other. He twirled the weapon, tapping it on the table and then the floor, ringing a rhythmic set of clangs.

"What's the third way?" asked Stephen.

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you," declared Marcus with a solemn expression. His eyes twinkled.

Stephen laughed, then reached for the bottle, upending it over his glass. "Empty," he said sorrowfully.

Without a word, Marcus tucked away the denn'bok, picked up the second bottle, flipped open the top and filled both their glasses.

"I don't know if I should," said Stephen, swirling the liquid in his glass. "I'm not sure it helps."

"Doesn't hurt," replied Marcus curtly. He edged his chair closer to Stephen, and putting his hands flat on the table, leaned forward and stared into his friend's eyes. "What do you want, Doctor?"

"Call me Stephen, for God's sake," expostulated Stephen. "I get enough of the title the rest of the day. And as for what I want..." He carefully set the glass down and put his hand over Marcus' thin strong fingers. He held them tightly within his own. "I want to feel something real. I want someone to look at me and see Stephen Franklin, not Doctor Franklin."

"Reality can be a dangerous place," remarked Marcus. "The Minbari spent a great deal of time training us to identify our own desires, and to decide whether they are the true calling of our heart, or the whisper of deception or self-delusion." He stood up abruptly, pulling Stephen to his feet as well. The two men faced one another, faces flushed and muscles tensed as if they were about to engage in battle.

Stephen felt like he was on the edge of an abyss, that if he took one step forward he would fall, and fall hard. His chest was tight and his breathing rapid. Marcus was just looking at him, not saying anything, dark eyes wary and yet behind the caution Stephen sensed an uncertain entreaty. "Marcus," he said, his voice thick with cautious desire, "I've never kissed anyone with a beard before."

Marcus gave a short, abbreviated laugh. "I've never kissed anyone before." Then, he went on, rapid and flustered, "I mean, I've certainly kissed someone before, of course I have. Not a male someone, no. And there's wasn't anything more, beyond the kissing I mean. Something more, yes, but not much more." He smiled weakly. "Do you understand?"

Stephen stepped back for a moment and examined Marcus closely. "You're a virgin, aren't you? Not just a same sex virgin, but an all around virgin."

Marcus nodded, looking as if he was ready to either flee in self-defense or laugh in self-deprecation.

"In that case," replied Stephen, "I'll lead." He moved forward deliberately, forcing Marcus to step back, but the Ranger was stopped by the side wall that separated the kitchen and living room. Stephen pushed him up against the wall, placing his broad hands against Marcus' shoulders, keeping him in place while he kissed him, thoroughly and definitively. It felt as if his over-anxious and hair-trigger intellect had been slammed back into his body, grounding him in the moment and in the feel of two hearts pounding in firmly-muscled chests held hard against each other.

Marcus had slid his hands behind Stephen, moving them slowly down from his shoulders to his waist, then pulling Stephen tight against him. Stephen didn't resist, pressing closer, using tongue and teeth to claim the other man, to lose himself in sensation. He moved his hands lower, maneuvering them behind Marcus to cup the other man's ass. He was just reveling in his own response, sudden and sharp, when Marcus shifted and Stephen felt steel hard against his thigh.

"Marcus," said Stephen, gasping as he tore his mouth briefly away from his willing pupil's lips. "Is that a denn'bok or are you glad to be here?"

Marcus' hand moved between them, into his cloak, pulling out his weapon and letting it clatter onto the nearby table. "It's a denn'bok. But oh, I am glad, Stephen. Glad to be here."


End file.
